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thirteenfrogs · 5 months ago

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‘hot & heavy’ — leah williamson x reader

leah williamson x fem!reader

based on hot & heavy by lucy dacus !

italics are flashbacks

not proofread and idk if makes sense

so. many. words. (7.8k)

—

being back here makes me hot in the face

hot blood in my pulsing veins

england, you know, is home.

you associate that word with the country so often that it always surprises you that the dictionary definition of home isn't simply the polaroid of your house in milton keynes that you took when you were 8.

england is home even when you leave, and it's home when you come back after years away.

being back in england — specifically in milton keynes — makes your cheeks warm, and you're not sure whether it's the uncharacteristically hot sun or something deeper in the pit of your stomach that makes you all too aware of the hot blood in your pulsing veins.

heavy memories weighing on my brain

hot and heavy in the basement of your parents' place

your memories of milton keynes are varied — some are from your childhood, where you spent hours wishing on dandelions, kicking a ball around the neighbouring streets, and chasing the ice-cream van with a 50p coin you found in the gutter in the hopes of a screwball or a mr. whippy.

some memories are from your teenage years, where the bus ride to school was more entertaining than any parties your friends dragged you to in short dresses and the promise of a kiss from the good looking lad in the year above, no matter how much you insisted that you would much rather go to the cinema with your mates (and sneakily hold hands with your best friend).

few memories are from your adult years, when you decided to travel to neighbouring cities and spent hours exploring the intricacies of museum architecture and flirting to get free drinks in the new pub that opened around the corner from your secondary school.

every memory, though, includes her.

leah williamson — your childhood best friend, teenage love, and the reason why being back home feels both freeing and suffocating at the same time.

you used to be so sweet

leah used to pick flowers.

it was something that, more often than not, ended with you both being chased down the street by an angry neighbour who had fists in the air yelling that they were already on the phone to your mums and you would both be in for it when you got home.

it was always worth it, though, when after running so fast for so long you swear your legs could fall off, leah presents you with a fistful of whatever flowers were growing in that particular garden with some blades of grass and the roots still attached to the muddy bouquet. there would always be a dandelion, too, and the blonde girl would insist you make a wish just so she could pester you for hours after about what you had wished for.

and even when your mum does inevitably tell you off after the streetlights had come on and signalled your time to retreat home, the crumpled flowers you hold tight in your grasp remind you that tomorrow you'll do it all again, and the collection of wilted flowers on your windowsill will surely grow once more.

when she sees you again for the first time in almost 5 years, leah refrains from breaking into the nearest garden to steal you a flower and instead settles for a quick hug that feels more like home than any house she's ever lived in.

now you're a firecracker on a crowded street

couldn't look away even if i wanted

it’s merely a coincidence, you tell yourself, that your trip back home coincides with leah’s 26th birthday.

she invites you to a small get-together she’s having in london, and you try not to think about all the birthday traditions that have been broken in the years apart from your ex-best-friend. gone are the sleepovers you held the night before, gone are the parties your families had in your back-gardens, and gone are the shared slices of your favourite cakes.

get-togethers in hidden bars in london are new to you, but they seem familiar to leah and those she considers most important to her.

meeting up with her teammates and friends is a bittersweet experience, and you try not to think about how the leah they’re celebrating is wildly different to the leah you’re celebrating.

you look at the blonde and see the girl you once considered your better half, your extra limb, and they simply see the woman she is today.

leah’s the same as she always was, you notice from your seat at the bar, as she attracts the attention from the entire room without even trying. she’s still the same leah that was a thousand times more popular than you, and she’s still the same leah that never seemed to notice the hold she had on others.

you watch the way her eyes light up when she’s had a drink, and it takes you back to bonfire night when you were 7. when leah first held a sparkler on your crowded street, and her immediate thought was to try and cast a spell on you, giggling like a madman when you throw yourself to the floor like you had been struck.

you think the sparkle in her eyes is still there, and you pretend not to notice the way it brightens when she catches sight of you watching her. you couldn’t look away even if you wanted, and it takes a tap to your shoulder to snap you out of your leah-induced haze.

“kei!” you throw your arms around the ginger in a warm hug, and she responds back eagerly.

“hi, y/n/n, it’s so good to see you again.” keira smiles, squeezing your shoulders gently.

“it’s been a while.” you agree, letting her take the seat next to you.

you find yourself sticking with keira and other familiar faces, such alex and georgia, for a lot of the night — getting tipsy as you reminisce on shared memories and anecdotes about a certain blonde who was drunkenly serenading the entire bar.

at one point, it’s just you and keira, both equally drunk as you laugh about that time leah fell off a swing and was convinced that a ghost had pushed her.

“she was mad — still is, i think.” keira grins, glancing over to leah as she dances around the room.

“it’s a wonder i survived so long.” you agree, a smile on your flushed cheeks.

“i always thought you were it for each other, you know.” keira muses quietly, glancing between you and leah across the room.

“me too.” you take a large gulp of whatever drink georgia had forced into your hand 5 minutes prior.

“i still do.” you glance up at her in confusion, but keira’s slightly slurred words continue, “i know i’m drunk, and i know you are too, but i really think you shouldn't give up on her. she never gave up on you, not really.” at your silence, keira backtracks slightly, wincing at her own drunken word-vomit. "i'm sorry, i shouldn't have- i know you're happy in spain now, i didn't mean to bring up old-"

"i’m moving back to london soon.”

and with that, you make your way to the bar to order another drink, eyes drifting around the room and automatically landing on the woman of the hour, who takes that as her cue to stumble over for the first time that night.

“dandelion! i didn’t think you were coming!” she shouts over the song that you know was once her favourite, wrapping her arm over your shoulder and squeezing you close in a once-familiar embrace.

“neither did i.” you admit quietly, never one to be able to lie to her.

“i’m glad you did, now we can sing our song!”

“no karaoke-“

“yes karaoke!”

and like no time had passed at all since you were leah and y/n, the blonde leads you to the small stage with a firm hand.

“one song, and then i’m sitting back down.” you say firmly, and leah simply grins, pushing a piece of hair out of your face as gently as she can with her clumsy hands.

“that’s my shy girl.” she coos as she pinches your cheek teasingly, and you simply roll your eyes. "you never were one for the stage, were you, dandelion?"

try to walk away but i come back to the start

led me to the floor even though i'm not a dancer

the night before your year 11 prom was spent in leah's bed — which was practically yours too with how much time you spent there growing up — laying side by side and staring at the ceiling as if the answer to why your cheeks were so warm was written above the bed.

"what if someone asks me to dance?" it's the first question you ask that betrays how nervous you really are for the upcoming event, and leah scoffs in response.

"tell them to shove off because you've already got a dance partner." the answer is so leah that you have to take a moment to roll your eyes, and because she apparently has eyes on the side of her head, she kicks you for it.

"i don't suppose that dance partner is you, is it?" you tease lightly, bumping your shoulder with hers and watching expectantly for her rebuttal.

"who else would it be?" she turns to look at you, blue eyes searching your face for the answer she knows she'll never get.

because the answer is nobody. there's not a single other person on planet earth you would trust to dance with you, and since there aren't any martians visiting any time soon, you'll stick with leah.

and stick with leah you do.

you're attached to her side when your mums take as many pictures as their cameras can physically hold, leah's hand settled on your waist and your head leaned against her shoulder as you stand outside your house. you pretend the blush on your cheeks is from the never-ending compliments from your families and the warm sun, and not the way that your best friend squeezes your hip gently to remind you pay attention to the cameras and not her.

you remain within arm's length of leah the entire night except for the 2 minutes that she disappeared to fetch you a drink that she knew you would need in the warm room, and even then she had tried to take you with her.

your interlocked pinky fingers keep you close as you make your way around the room, mindlessly chatting to your classmates.

you didn’t go near the dance floor, though, no matter how often leah tried to drag to towards it. you had made your opinions on dancing very clear and leah swore if that she heard the words “i’d rather die” come out of your mouth again then she’d kill you herself.

instead, the pair of you mingle with all of your friends and poke fun at the teachers’ outfits as they supervise the room with eagle eyes, though the blonde never lets up in her begging for a dance.

“come on, dandelion, just dance with me? please?” the pout on leah’s face is one you’ve seen many times in your decade of friendship, and not once have you ever had the heart to deny it.

“lee,” you whine, feeling your resolve crumble further when she steps closer. “i’m not a dancer. i don’t dance.”

“i do! i’ll show you how to do it.” she looks down at you with her most pleading expression, “please?”

“i’ll look-“

“you won’t look stupid, and don’t even think about suggesting it again.” she squeezes your pinky gently with her own, and you know you’re gone. “if anyone says anything, i’ll kick ‘em right in the face with these stupid heels — and that’s a promise!” you bite your lip hesitantly with a smile and leah presses further, “come on, y/n/n, please? don’t make me beg in-front of everyone here.”

“…fine. one dance.”

“that’s all i need, my girl.”

with leah’s hand in your own, you don’t feel nearly as nervous as you would’ve normally, and she leads you to the floor where you spend the rest of the night.

you find that you don’t hate dancing so much when leah’s your partner.

ask me all the questions that your parents wouldn't answer

"did you know that olivia in your geography class has two mums?”

it’s a tuesday night and leah’s in your bed. you’re 15 and there’s not much to do on a school night other than talk about whatever comes to mind. leah’s the first, tonight, and you wonder if she’ll finally let slip the reason she’s been deep in thought all day.

“really? she’s never mentioned it before.” you shrug, unsure of where your best friend is going with the conversation. “i guess she wouldn’t have a reason to, would she?”

leah bites her lip, clearly deep in thought. you have half a mind to tell her not to think so hard or her head will hurt, but you refrain.

“hey, what’s up?” you poke her cheek gently, hoping to snap her out of whatever headspace she was in. “you a homophobe or something? because i’ll have you know my cousin’s gay and-“

“i’m not a homophobe, you dick!” leah shoves you with a huff, and you grin at your success. “i’m just curious!”

“bi-curious or just curious?” you tilt your head, knowing it would only annoy her further.

“dandelion, i’m getting annoyed here.” she warns, glaring at you as best as she can with her 16-year-old baby face. “i’m just-“ she sighs, flopping back down on your bed. “do you think it’s…okay?”

“for?” you ask, laying down beside her.

“for two girls to…y’know, have a baby? get married?”

“i don’t see why it wouldn’t be okay?”

“i don’t see why either, but…” leah glares up at the ceiling. “when you think of getting married, what do you think of?”

you blink at the slight change of subject, but conversations with your best friend often go from topic to topic, so you shrug and answer honestly.

“cake- ow, leah! don’t hit me!”

“be serious for once!”

“i’m trying!” you huff, rubbing your shoulder from where she had so kindly elbowed you. “okay, when i think of getting married i think…a white dress, and some nice flowers. i think about songs i’d like to have play too. and cake.”

“what about who you’re marrying?”

“i don’t know, i never think of that.” you shrug, wondering what leah was getting at.

“well isla in our form class is convinced she’s going to marry jack, and she says she imagines it all the time. do you?”

“do i imagine marrying jack? god, no.” you snort at the idea. “he picks his nose still, did you know that?”

“y/n! be serious!” leah groans.

“stop beating around the bush and ask me what you really want to ask, then!” you huff, kicking her shin.

there’s silence for a moment, and you risk a glance towards the blonde.

she’s already looking at you — blue eyes piercing yours. “…do you ever think of marrying a girl?”

you roll over to your side and look back at her, eyes roaming over her freckled face that seemed awfully troubled for a simple tuesday night.

you shrug, “i dreamt i married lucy liu once, but i think that was because i fell asleep watching charlie’s angels.”

“was it…did it feel weird?” she furrows her brows the way she always does, and you reach out and press your thumb between them to remind her to stop.

“no, it was nice until she went all bridezilla on my dad. i can’t remember why, though. think he said her dress was ugly or something.” you remove your hand from leah’s face, but it doesn’t go far because the blonde reaches up and intertwines your pinkies and lays your hands on the pillow between your faces.

“i’d go bridezilla on him too. just for fun, though.” leah nods thoughtfully.

“and that’s why i wouldn’t marry you.” you roll your eyes, squeezing her finger.

“no? not even if i proposed with a million dandelions?” she asks with a smug smile, and you grin as she finally seems to relax.

“hmm…if you did that and got me a pretty ring, i wouldn’t say no.” you nod.

“the haribo ones aren’t good enough for you anymore?” she smiles, her eyes flickering between your own and your lips.

“diamonds are a girl’s best friend, lee. you gotta know that if you’re ever gonna propose to someone.” you poke her nose gently with your spare hand, and she grabs it with a gentle squeeze.

“i’ll keep it in mind.”

how could i deny a diamond in the rough?

it was awfully cliché, and you're aware of that, but leah had insisted that it was a rite of passage to play dancing queen on your 17th birthday, and so you allow the blonde to twirl you to her heart's content as the lyrics blare through your house. she sings along as she always does, never one to shy away from showing her passion for music and love for singing.

your families are scattered around the house and the back garden — leah’s grandmother playing scrabble with your aunt at the kitchen table, jacob kicking a football outside with your cousins, and both your’s and leah’s mums gossiping over a glass of wine while your dads manned the barbecue on the deck. to anyone else, this wouldn’t be considered a very good 17th birthday celebration, but to you it was perfect.

your other friends don’t understand that this is how you’d rather spend your birthday over getting drunk in a field (though, you weren’t opposed to that every now and then), and so it’s only leah who you spend the evening with, singing, dancing, and drinking as much as your families allow.

when it’s time to blow out your candles, it’s leah who stands beside you with a soft smile as your families sing the song you hate so much. it’s leah who presses a kiss to your cheek and tells you to close your eyes and make wish.

‘i wish it could always be like this.’

you open your eyes as watch as the smoke rises to ceiling, blushing as everyone cheers and claps, and giggling when jacob begs for the cake to be cut already.

“what did you wish for?” leah asks quietly, eyes solely on you as you watch your dad carry the cake over to the counter.

“you’ve asked me that almost everyday since we were 6, lee.” you chuckle, leaning into the arm she has around your waist. “and i’ve never once told you.”

“i was hoping today would be different.” she pouts dramatically, “but, alas, my dandelion keeps her secrets.” the hand she places over her heart makes you roll your eyes fondly, and leah simply continues her theatrics for as long as she can before getting distracted with a slice of cake — typical.

you can’t help but feel like today is different, though. maybe it’s just because your head feels a little fuzzy from the beers your dad had allowed you to have, or maybe it’s because leah’s arm had been wrapped around your waist all day and you wonder how you’ll cope if she never does it again. either way, there’s something in the air that evening, and you feel it close in on you when leah shoves a piece of cake in your face, smearing icing across your cheeks with a laugh so loud, you wonder if you’ll go deaf.

you freeze in shock when it happens, and even though you can see everyone in the room cracking up, it’s leah’s laugh that captures your attention, and it’s her smile that you want to shove a piece of cake into.

so you do.

war is declared that night, and despite your mum’s protests about getting food everywhere, you and leah find yourselves in a cake fight that resembles the great snowball war of ‘05.

your cousins and jacob join in, like all children do, and you can hear your dad placing bets on who’ll be the first to tap out, but your attention is solely on your best friend and how stupidly beautiful she looks when she laughs. you don’t know anyone in the world who could pull off a cake-smeared face so well, but leah seems to do it in a way that has your heart beating faster with more than just adrenaline as you run around the kitchen with cake in your fists.

you know you’ll regret this all when you have to clean up later, and you know your hair will never forgive you for the amount of chocolate in it, but in those moments where cake is flying across the kitchen and out the back door, you know you’ll be okay.

eventually, your mum puts a stop to it all and orders your dad to hose you all off in the garden (something he takes sadistic pleasure in as you all scream and run away from the ice-cold water, leah even using your dog as a shield while you used her), and your aunt ends up taking your cousins home before they could catch a cold.

people start to leave slowly, giving you one last birthday wish and a kiss to the head, until finally it’s just you, leah, and your parents.

your mum sends you both upstairs with a reminder not to stay up too late gossiping like always, and you and leah simply share a look before running up the stairs and attempting to push one another down them.

after you take turns showering and changing into some pyjamas, you both settle on your bed with the lord of the rings trilogy lined up for the 4th time that month, just because it was leah’s favourite.

“that’s you.” you point to the screen where gollum currently is, like you always do, and leah smacks a pillow down on your face, like she always does. “that never gets old.” you grin.

“it never gets funny.” the blonde huffs, stealing popcorn out of your hand instead from the bowl like a civilised person. “one day that mouth of yours will get you in trouble, dandelion.”

“is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise.” she nudges your shoulder with her own. “and i’ll have you know i look nothing like gollum; i’m far more beautiful.”

“that’s not a very nice thing to say about your twin, leah.” you shake your head disapprovingly, and leah scoffs.

“that’s it!” and before you can even begin to comprehend what’s happening, leah’s attacking you.

the pillow that was once behind her head is now in her hands as she swings it down on your face, and you barely have time to react before it comes down again. leah’s laugh is loud as you squeal, trying to escape her wrath to no avail.

“i surrender!” you finally shout after far too long, and leah grins triumphantly from her place above you.

your breathing is heavy, and your cheeks are warm, but leah’s eyes are comforting. they don’t hold your gaze like usual, and instead they glance down to your parted lips with an unrecognisable expression.

“you surrender?” she double checks, holding the pillow threateningly.

you nod, trying to catching your breath.

“and you won’t say anything else about my appearance?”

“my lips are sealed.” you nod, watching as leah drops the pillow

“i can’t think of anything clever to say about your mouth,” she says, brushing some of your hair out of your face gently, “i just…”

you hold your breath as leah leans in close, lips brushing against yours, tentatively, for the first time.

you think about the first time leah ever kissed you when you were 6. when you had just learned how to ride your bike and in your excitement to show your best friend, you stopped looking where you were going. you had hit the curb and flown over the handlebars and onto the pavement. it was leah who pulled you up to your feet, and it was her who pressed a magic kiss to your grazed palm to stop your tears.

you remember thinking it was best magic kiss you had ever gotten, because it worked in taking away like the pain like all magic kisses too.

now, though, you know it pales in comparison to this.

you don’t think anything could ever live up to feeling of leah’s soft lips on yours, and her gentle hold on your jaw. nothing will ever compare to the way she slowly pulls away, smiles at you, and then pulls you back in for another.

you led me in your world until you had enough

the day after your kiss with leah, you find that she’s nowhere to be found.

you don’t wake up to leah’s arms wrapped around you like you usually do after a sleepover, and a quick look around your house tells you that leah’s not downstairs critiquing your mum’s pancakes like usual either. your dog sits at the front door whining in the way he only does when he misses your best friend, and you wonder why leah left so early and where she could have possibly gone.

you find that as the day goes on, your worry for leah increases. she hasn't responded to — or even read — the numerous texts you've sent, and even jacob had simply shrugged his shoulders when you asked where she could be.

you're pretty much moments away from reporting her as missing when you hear her familiar laugh in the park near your house. you wonder if you've gone crazy enough to start hearing things, but once glance out your bedroom window confirms that leah is, in fact, at the park. she's kicking a ball around with some girls you recognise as her friends from football, and you wonder why she hasn't invited you like she normally does.

despite every cell and fibre in your body telling you to close your window and pretend you never saw her, you find yourself clipping the lead onto your dog's collar and walking him across the road like you had a reason to be there apart from confronting your stubborn best friend on why she had seemingly disappeared all day.

leah doesn’t notice you — if she does, she ignores you — as you approach, your dog tugging the lead with the insane strength that only appears whenever he sees leah.

“hey, y/n!” one of leah’s friends waves, and that’s when the blonde finally looks your way.

leah reluctantly kicks the ball away, sending her friends chasing after it, and turns to you with an air of coldness that you had never been on the receiving end of before.

“haven’t see you all day,” you remark casually, ignoring the way she rolls her eyes dismissively. “is everything okay?”

“yeah, fine.” leah shrugs, patting your dog’s head lightly as he happily licks her hand.

“oh.” you’re not really sure what to say after that. you watch her for a moment, taking notice of the way she avoids your gaze. “did you want to talk about-“

“look, i’m really sorry but my coach says i don’t need any distractions. can you leave me alone?”

with that, your best friend (?) walks away, leaving you standing there in confusion.

“coach says i don’t need distractions.”

you wonder if leah sees you as a distraction, or simply just the kiss. you hope it’s neither, but the way she seems to avoid you like the plague for weeks after your conversation tells you it’s probably both. she spends all her time with football, and even in school she seems to find a way to distance herself.

and so you see less of your best friend as her passion for football grows, and you feel selfish when you find yourself missing her.

you don’t understand why you can’t just be happy for her, but a part of you deep down knows that it’s because you don’t want her to be happy without you.

she is, though. and that hurts more than anything. leah seems perfectly fine to spend all her time with her football friends, and you find that your late night talks have been replaced with an occasional text asking about homework that never leads to anything more than a 1 minute conversation.

leah doesn’t call anymore, and so you don’t either. she doesn’t knock on your door and beg you to come out, so you take the long way around town to avoid her house.

you still attend her matches — because no matter how upset you are at her, she’s still your best friend and you’d always support her — but she doesn’t run to you at the end of the games anymore, instead she sticks close to her teammates and barely glances in your direction.

drifting away from leah is a slow process, and yet you feel completely blindsided because one minute she was your leah, and the next it felt like you barely knew her at all.

you knew that i wanted you to bend the rules

how did i believe i had a hold on you?

losing leah feels like losing a part of yourself, and you hate that it’s because, technically, you are.

you had always been leah and y/n.

when one of you wasn’t in school, teachers would ask the other where your other half was. when your mum made dinner every evening, there was always enough for another plate because she knew that your best friend would be there whether she was invited or not. when leah’s mum booked that family holiday to spain in 2008, there was an extra ticket with your name on it because she would never dream of separating leah from her y/n. you would never find one without the other, and that’s the way it always had been.

leah and y/n.

you don’t know how to just be y/n.

you find yourself looking to your side to tell her a funny thought that popped in your head, only to be met with nothing because leah’s not around anymore.

your parents don’t understand when you tell them you’ve simply grown apart, and neither do you, because ‘growing apart’ wasn’t in the cards for leah and y/n.

leah and y/n were supposed to stay together until the very end, even when the street lights turned off. leah and y/n were meant to stand by each other’s side, even when you were being lectured for stealing dandelions from mr. miller’s garden. leah and y/n were forever and always, like you had promised when you were 7.

but you’re not 7 anymore, and leah hadn’t given you a dandelion in so long, you wonder if you still know how to make a wish.

you were stupid to think you were ever important to leah. how did you believe you had a hold on her?

you were always stronger than people suspected

underestimated and overprotected

you knew that leah joining the senior squad for arsenal was inevitable — she was an amazing player with passion for the game and a love for arsenal that could rival even the biggest gooners.

it doesn’t surprise you at all to hear through the grapevine about leah’s permanent move to london, but you think that fate isn’t on your side when you find out she lives close to your new london flat that you share with your friends from university.

you’re just grateful that your busy school schedule and leah’s packed football life means no accidental meetings in the big city.

except it does. because of course it does.

you think maybe it's because your body had been accustomed to being near leah your entire life that it seeks her out even when you know it shouldn't. you think that must be why you always seem to bump into her no matter where you go.

it certainly doesn't help that you can't resist attending her matches too. call it routine, or simply call it love, but you don't think there's a single world where you wouldn't support the girl you once considered your best friend. watching leah play football had been a staple in your life for as long as you can remember, and there had been too much change in your life for you to ever consider giving this comfort up.

you pretend you don’t notice the way her eyes always seem to find your figure in the mostly-empty stands, and you always make sure to wear a jacket over your williamson jersey just so she doesn’t know that she’s the only reason you’re still there when everyone else goes home.

after a particularly good match, a few months into the season, leah finally picks up the courage to approach you. it had been months of longing stares from the pitch, showing off whenever she was near your section, and trying to catch your eye at the end of a match, and leah was now finally ready to speak to you.

properly. for the first time since she decided to be a coward almost a year ago and tell you you were a distraction instead of saying the truth.

the truth was that she loved you.

leah had loved you for as long as she could remember, and she was sure that she’d love you for the rest of her life.

the only thing to do now was ensure that you’d actually be in her life, so she could love you up close again.

it’s after a pretty intense match that leah finally had enough to confidence to approach you (after a few words of encouragement from alex, of course). you were sat in the stands, talking animatedly with another girl about the game.

leah swallows the brief feeling of jealousy, and walks towards your seat. you look up almost immediately, like you can sense her, and your expression doesn’t change. you pull your jacket tighter over your body, and leah catches sight of the red jersey beneath.

she hopes it’s her last name across your back.

“big fan?” leah nods towards your jersey as she leans over the barriers slightly, her voice surprisingly not giving away the nerves she was feeling at being face-to-face with you again after so long.

“oh, absolutely,” you agree, your voice dripping with the sarcasm that she knows too well, “i just love vicky losada.”

leah scoffs, “you’re wearing #6, really? let me see.” she gestures for you to take your jacket off, and you shake your head.

“6 my favourite number.” you shrug.

“14 is better.” she taps the #14 on her shorts pointedly.

“ever so humble, williamson.”

“you know me well, dandelion.” the nickname falls from her lips as easily as it used to, as if no time had passed at all since the last time she said it.

like you were still leah and y/n.

she seems to think so too, because leah grabs her own jersey and pulls it over her head. “here,” she says, holding it out to you, “it’s not a #6, but one day it will be. for you.”

you hesitantly take the warm jersey, “i’ll hold you to that.”

“wait, let me sign it.” leah grabs a sharpie that someone had left in the seat beside you and you hold the jersey out for her, trying to keep your eyes solely on her hands and not anywhere else. “there.”

“how much do you think this would go for on ebay?” you ask, folding the jersey and tucking it under your arm.

“not funny.” leah frowns, the familiar crease forming between her eyebrows. “you have to keep that.”

“we’ll see.” you grin, waving goodbye as you step back.

“see you next week.” leah waves, watching you go.

it’s only when you get home do you realise what she’s written on the jersey.

‘call me?’ with her phone number attached.

your roommate wonders what has you smiling so widely for the rest of the evening.

—

things with leah don't go back to how they were — you doubt they ever will — but the new normal, you find, isn't so bad either. it definitely helped that leah had offered a sincere apology for what she had said and how she had been acting with a collection of your favourite snacks, your favourite movie, and a dandelion she had insisted you use to make a wish about her embarassing herself at her next match — which she seemed to think she deserved for how she had treated you.

you don't bother telling her that when you close your eyes and blow on the flower, you only wish for the best for her, like you always have.

you want the best for leah, and a part of you deep down knows that you don’t fit into that idea anymore.

you cherish the time you spend with your once-best friend, and you let her cart you around london with her teammates for months before you break the news that you’re leaving for good.

when i went away it was the only option

couldn't trust myself to proceed with caution

the job offer comes at the perfect time. if you didn’t know better, you’d probably say it was divine intervention or the years of dandelion wishes catching up to you and granting you this once and for all.

either way, you don’t dwell on what causes your boss to offer you a position in spain, you simply give a grateful smile and ask when you can start.

you try not to think about the fact that spain reminds you of leah — of that family holiday you were invited to back when you were 9. you try not to think of the hours you spent playing mermaids in the pool and getting sunburned while eating as much food as your little bodies could handle.

you think you’d be able to find a connection to leah no matter where in the world you are.

every time you walk past a group of children playing football, you’re taken back the hours of running around fields with your blonde best friend as she dribbled past you like you weren’t even there — and then letting you take the ball back moments later because she felt bad.

every time you go grocery shopping, your brain subconsciously reminds you which foods leah does and doesn’t like, as if she’ll be popping around for tea like you live on the same street again and not in a whole different country.

leah didn’t take that easily, either — the fact that you wouldn’t be within in walking distance of her anymore.

you remember the way her eyes shined with tears when you showed her your transfer email. you remember the way she begged you stay, insisting that the better pay and higher position wouldn’t matter if you moved in together. she promised she would take care of bills, and that all you’d have to do is stay.

she didn’t understand that it wasn’t like how it used to be.

leah wasn’t the sun. not anymore. your life had to revolve around something else now.

spain is quite sunny, anyway. you’re sure you’ll find something new.

the most that i could give to you was nothing at all

the best that i could offer was to miss your calls

you settle into your new home quickly, and when you ignore the constant ache in your chest, you find that spain makes you quite happy.

leah calls more than she did when you were in london, and you find yourself purposely ignoring them for the sake of letting her down easily. you lived in spain now, and leah lived in london. it just wouldn’t work.

you wish you were a big enough person to pick up the phone, but you knew that the second you hear her voice again, you’d be back to square one.

the most that you can give is nothing at all.

try to walk away but i come back to the start

and it happens over and over and over and over again

over and over and over and over again

i wish i was over it, over it, over it, over it

even in spain, you think of leah.

you always think of leah.

you watch her games whenever you can — both for england and for arsenal. you buy a williamson #6 jersey when she changes her number and you wear it proudly whenever you sit in front of the tv and watch her play the game you had become so accustomed to.

the signed jersey from all those years ago is the one you wear to sleep. leah’s message has long since faded, and it doesn’t smell like her anymore, but the comfort it brings is the same as it always was.

every birthday, you find yourself staring at the candles wondering what you should wish for. back when you had leah everything, you could always come up with something new to wish for. now, though, you don’t know. there’s only one thing you want, and you can’t have her it. when you close your eyes, the warmth of the candles in front of your face uncomfortably familiar, you only see images of leah. you see her smiling, laughing, and playing.

you wish for her happiness.

you’re not sure what that means for you.

a hidden gem, my own goldmine

you had the wide and wild eyes

leah isn’t just your favourite footballer anymore.

she’s an inspiration to thousands of people, one of the best in her field, and you know deep down that you’ve done the right thing by leaving.

she’s doing everything she ever wanted, what does it matter if she’s not doing it with you?

you’re sure she doesn’t miss you, anyway.

you pretend not to notice when leah views your instagram stories, and you act like it doesn’t make your ache to reach out to her.

but you can’t.

you were a secret to yourself

you couldn't keep from anyone else

now you're the biggest brightest flame

you are a fire that can’t be tamed

you're better than ever, but i knew you when

leah williamson, england captain. but you remember when she was simply leah, the girl with legs too long for her body and a smile too wide for someone in the middle getting told off for tracking mud into her mum's kitchen.

leah williamson, european champion. but you were there when she was just leah williamson, the teenager determined to prove herself and make her family proud.

you held her when she had a bad game, and you cheered on the sidelines when she played her first match as a gunner.

before she was anyone else, she was your best friend.

but...she had always been more than that, hadn't she?

she was always meant for more than you and your garden bouquets and your late night conversations.

she was always going to be more than that little street on milton keynes, and maybe you had always known that you were doomed for heartbreak.

leah williamson had never really been yours.

not even when you were 16, and she told you she liked you the way girls should like boys.

she wasn't yours when she tentatively pressed her lips against yours for the first time on your 17th birthday.

she wasn't even yours when she promised she was.

she had always been her own person, and you were simply the idiot on the sidelines with your arms open for whenever she felt like being someone else’s for a moment.

she had never been yours, but you had known since the day she first presented you with a stolen flower when you were 6 that you were hers.

leah wasn't yours, much like that dandelion wasn't really yours either. because she had ripped it from the ground outside mr. miller's house much like she had done to your heart when she told you that you were a distraction.

you’ve had a long time to get over leah, and an even longer time to find yourself outside of being her best friend. but either you simply don’t want to, or that birthday wish you made when you were turning 17 really did come true, because you find that leah’s the only person you want even after years apart. even after leah had broken your heart and failed to fix it, you still want her to hold you at the end of the night and tell you everything she thinks and feels, and you want nothing more than to listen to her voice and the steady beat of her heart and know that you’re home.

you think that maybe it’s not a bad thing to still want leah. maybe you can start over. you can be leah and y/n again.

it's bittersweet to see you again.

you spend most of your time home falling back into routine with leah, much like the one you had when you were 16.

and while the conversations no longer revolve around who of your classmates fancies who, or how badly you think you did on your recent exam, you feel the same warmth on your cheeks as you did when leah first held your hand so many years before.

your inside jokes still make you laugh harder than any comedy show you've been to, and leah's arm over your shoulder fits better than that tailored coat you got for your 21st birthday.

being back with leah feels right, and that terrifies you.

because it was wrong, wasn't it?

it was wrong to look at leah and see everything you could've had.

but when she catches your eye and glances down to your lips with pink cheeks, you think maybe you'll always be the girls in milton keynes, and maybe the flowers blooming the ground would belong to you once again.

the grin on her lips makes you hot in the face, hot blood in your pulsing veins.

heavy memories weigh on your brain as she presses her lips against yours like they were coming home, and you register her slide something soft into your palm as she kisses you.

reluctantly, you pull away with bated breath and open your hand, peering down curiously at what you now hold.

a dandelion.

“make a wish, y/n.”

you glance up at leah — your leah.

“i don’t think i need to.”

—

#woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #Spotify #arsenal wfc x reader #lionesses x reader #arsenal x reader

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lostfracturess · 5 months ago

Text

remedies and reasons | ch. 02

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 12.3 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

author's note — yeeaaaah, guess who's back with a fresh new chapter !! i know, i know, it's been forever since i last posted, but here we go, be prepared to die from second-hand embarrassment. massive thank you to @nanamis-baker for beta reading and calling me out on my plot holes. & as always, this story is a spin-off of symptoms and causes, starting after ch 12. but you can read it as a standalone.

masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

You never thought you'd find yourself in the chemistry lab on a Saturday morning, but there you were, helping your best friend Megumi set up his experiment for his thesis presentation.

You were a law student, not a scientist.

The closest you'd come to a lab was binge-watching "Breaking Bad" on Netflix.

But Megumi was your ride-or-die since kindergarten, so when he called you at the crack of dawn, frantically rambling about his professor, his thesis, and some chemical you couldn't even pronounce, you threw on your favorite hoodie and raced over to campus.

"Okay, so where do we start?" you asked, eyeing the array of beakers, test tubes, and Bunsen burners that looked like they belonged in a mad scientist's lair.

Megumi ran his fingers through his messy black hair, a habit he'd had since childhood whenever he was stressed. "Well, first we need to mix these two solutions." He handed you a beaker filled with a clear liquid.

You took the beaker gingerly, as if it might explode at any moment. "You sure you trust me with this? I mean, I don't even remember the last time I was in a lab."

"I have faith in your ability to follow instructions," he said.

You eyed him wearily.

What have you gotten yourself into?

You spent the next hour mixing, measuring, and occasionally cursing under your breath when something didn't go quite right. As you worked, your mind drifted to your internship at the most prestigious (and pretentious) law firm in the city that had started a few weeks ago. It already felt like the most stupid thing on earth happening to you.

Okay, okay, you had applied there yourself. But you didn't think they would actually accept you.

Unlucky luck or so.

The first week at Nishimura and Asahi had been a total nightmare. The law world was nothing but cutthroat competition, where even the coffee machine seemed to be judging you. That must have been the reason why you spilled coffee on your shirt on the second day of your internship. And you had nothing to change into.

And yes, you had a meeting that day too.

But the worst part was that mortifying incident in your first week. You accidentally barged into the wrong office and caught two senior partners in a, uh, very compromising position. Let's just say the image of their shocked faces and scrambled clothes was forever burned into your brain. You swore you'd never enter another office again unless you absolutely had to.

Thank goodness for Mr. Higurama, your advisor. He was the only sane person in this whole place. If it weren't for his calm attitude and genuine support, you'd probably have been back at law school by now, rocking back and forth in a corner.

The third week? Bearable. But worse in its own way. Endless boring tasks and emails that were basically passive-aggressive warfare. And then, just when you thought it couldn't get any more uncomfortable, HR reminded you in week three that you still hadn't turned in your health certificate.

At least you managed to do that.

It reminded you of a certain—date, or no, meeting? appointment? Or what was it?—You had with your doctor.

Oh god, what were you thinking?

"Okay, so now I need you to hold this," Megumi said, handing you a graduated cylinder filled with a bright blue liquid that looked suspiciously like something toxic.

"What is this stuff?" you asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Just a harmless indicator solution," he assured you. "It'll change color when the reaction is complete."

"Great," you said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. "So, basically, I'm holding a ticking time bomb that's going to turn purple and explode all over me if we mess this up?"

"Not quite. But try not to spill it, okay?"

You tried not to look at the potentially toxic thing in your hand while you rambled to yourself again in your mind. Where were you? Oh right, what the hell were you thinking about going out with the very person who saw your health history? In what world was that appropriate?

"What is it?" Megumi asked, ripping you out of your thoughts.

Just now, you realized that you must have had some weird facial expression, and you quickly straightened it. "Nothing."

He looked at you with a deadpan face. "I think I've known you long enough to know when something is going on.”

You sighed and then started. "I swear, these people at the law firm are the worst. All sharks in tailored suits and ties. Everyone's constantly trying to one-up each other, backstabbing, and throwing people under the bus left and right."

"Sounds delightful," Megumi said dryly.

"Oh, it gets better," you continued, warming to your subject. "There's this one guy, Chad—I don't even know his real name, but I call him that 'cause he's got one of those typical douchebag faces—and he's like the walking stereotype of every jerk law student you can imagine. He's so full of himself, talks down to everyone, and thinks he's God's gift to law or whatever."

"And he's at your internship?"

"Unfortunately, yes," you said, making a face. "He's always trying to make me look bad, steal my ideas, and just generally ruin my day. It's like having an annoying mosquito buzzing in your ear 24/7."

"Sounds like a real charmer.”

"You have no idea," you said with a sigh. "And the worst part is, he's not even the only one. There's this whole group of them—like a 'Chad Pack'—and they seem to enjoy making the rest of us feel incompetent. He's just a spoiled rich kid, and his dad is a big shot at the firm, so he gets away with everything. I can't even call him out on his bullshit without risking my internship. It's like being back in high school with the bullies."

"See the positive, at least you haven't caught any more senior partners in compromising positions again, right?"

"Oh god, don't remind me!" You covered your face with your hands. "I swear, the senior partners can't even look me in the eye anymore—"

You got cut off by a loud pop and a cloud of smoke billowing from one of the test tubes. You both jumped back, coughing and waving your hands to clear the air.

"What the hell was that?" you sputtered, your eyes watering from the acrid smell.

Megumi peered at the smoking test tube, his brow furrowed. "I think we may have added too much of the catalyst," he said, scribbling furiously in his lab notebook.

"You think? Oh god, I'm going to die here."

"At least that would save you from your internship?" he said.

You eyed him, deadpan.

Just as Megumi glanced up, likely ready with another witty comment, the lab door swung open with a bang, startling you both. "Hey, losers!" Nobara's cheerful voice echoed through the lab, her laughter filling the room.

Losers.

That's what Nobara affectionately calls your little mismatched group. And maybe she's right. You're an unlikely quartet, brought together by chance during your first year of university. Megumi, the chemistry nerd. Nobara, the wild-child pharmacy student. Yuji, the sports freak. And you, the aspiring lawyer who's beginning to question her life choices.

You don't quite fit in with the typical crowds in your respective fields. You guess you could say you were the outsiders, the misfits, the ones who gravitated towards each other because you didn't quite belong anywhere else.

You'd known Megumi since childhood, but you met Nobara and Yuji during the first few weeks of university at a rather uneventful mixer where you were essentially the only people not already in groups.

Yeah, you were losers, but at least you were in it together.

Without waiting for an invitation, Nobara plopped herself down on the lab bench, right next to Megumi's carefully arranged experiment. "So, how's the science project going?" she asked, curiously examining the colorful liquids bubbling in the beakers.

"Just trying to survive Megumi's thesis experiment," you replied.

Megumi raised an eyebrow. "Actually, it's going pretty well. We're nearly finished preparing."

Undeterred, Nobara hopped off the bench and slung an arm around your shoulders. "Blink three times if I should get you out of here."

"Please," you said.

"So, what are you two up to today? Any exciting plans?" Nobara asked, glancing over at Megumi. "We should grab some lunch. Yuji is finishing up his training soon, too."

You glanced at the clock on the lab wall, expecting it to be around 10 a.m. Your jaw dropped. "It's already noon?! How did that happen?"

Nobara grinned. "Time flies when you're having fun, right?"

"Or when you're stressing over a chemistry experiment," Megumi said, scribbling more notes.

You turned to Nobara. "How's that thesis treating you?" you asked, knowing the final thesis was looming over all of your heads. That's why you were all at the university, even on the weekends.

She shrugged. "It's fine, I guess. Boring, but whatever. It's gotta get done." Then, her face brightened. "But hey, guess what? There's this huge party coming up next weekend! It's hosted by some med students from another university."

Megumi and you exchanged puzzled glances. "Why would we go to a party with a bunch of med students we don't even know?" you asked.

Nobara's eyes sparkled. "Apparently, the guy hosting it is loaded, and rumor has it, this party is going to be wild."

"Wild how?" Megumi asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Think open bar, live DJ, even a pool," Nobara said dramatically. "Plus, it's a chance to meet new people, expand our social circles."

"You mean meeting future doctors?" you said, knowing that Nobara always dreamed of dating one. She watched way too much Grey's Anatomy. Dating a doctor is probably not as much fun as it seems.

"Hmm, maybe," she said with a sly grin.

You hesitated. Parties weren't really your scene, and the idea of mingling with a bunch of strangers, especially med students with a reputation for being wild, arrogant, and having god complexes didn't exactly appeal to you.

They probably strut around like they've discovered the cure for brain tumors while the rest of us mere mortals are just trying to figure out how to parallel park. Yeah. No, thank you.

Nobara sensed your hesitation. "Please, do it for me," she said, batting her eyelashes at you.

"Okay," you said, surprising even yourself. Damn, you were really easy to convince. "Count me in."

Nobara squealed and threw her arms around you. "Yes! This is going to be awesome!"

Megumi simply shook his head. "I guess I'm going too, then."

"Now that that is settled," Nobara said, playfully clapping her hands together. "Wrap up your little experiment, science boy, so we can go get some food. I'm starving, and I'm pretty sure she's about to pass out from low blood sugar." She pointed at you.

"Almost done," Megumi assured her, carefully transferring a final solution into a test tube. "Just need to record a few more readings."

Nobara bounced on her heels. "Come on, hurry up! The world is waiting for us!"

Megumi rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. I'm done. Let's go."

He quickly tidied up his workstation, meticulously storing his precious samples and equipment. Meanwhile, Nobara was already halfway out the door, her excited chatter echoing down the hallway.

You grabbed your bag and followed them out of the lab, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. The experiment was done, lunch was just around the corner, and a wild party awaited you all next weekend. Maybe university wasn't so bad after all.

Or maybe it was just the promise of mediocre cafeteria food and great friends that made everything seem a little bit brighter.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

After lunch with your friends, you found yourself back in the comfort of your small apartment. You pulled out your paints and a fresh canvas, and before you knew it, hours had passed without you even realizing it. The daylight faded into a soft golden glow as the sun began to set.

You were just adding the finishing touches to your painting when your eyes happened to glance at the clock on the wall. "Oh shit," you said, slapping your forehead with your paint-covered hand, leaving a vibrant streak of blue across your skin.

You had a... date? No, wait, a meeting... or was it an appointment? Because he was a doctor technically, right?

Quickly setting your paints and brushes aside, you rushed to the bathroom to clean up, silently cursing yourself for getting so caught up in your painting that you nearly missed the time.

You arrived at the sports bar with a nervous flutter in your stomach.

This wasn't a date, you reminded yourself for the umpteenth time. It was just a casual meeting with someone you'd recently met. Nothing more. Definitely nothing romantic. No hidden agendas, no expectations. But even though your intentions were purely platonic, you couldn't deny the flicker of nervousness.

Maybe it was just the excitement of meeting someone new.

Dr. Suguru Geto.

He was your doctor, yes, but he was also intriguing, with his kind eyes and gentle smile. Your conversation seemed to go beyond the usual small talk from the beginning, maybe it was the unusual way you met.

You shouldn't have asked him to meet, a voice in your head nagged. Why did you do this again? Because of his sad puppy eyes? You groaned inwardly. You couldn't even explain it to yourself. It had slipped out before you could stop yourself.

But to your surprise, he had agreed.

And now, here you were.

The atmosphere in the sports bar was electric. The roar of the crowd, punctuated by cheers and groans, echoed through the dimly lit space. The smell of stale beer and greasy food hung in the air. You didn't expect it to be so crowded. It was a rather niche bar.

A basketball game blared on the numerous screens, and the air crackled with the excited chatter of sports fans. You weaved your way through the crowd, your heart pounding a little faster with each step.

The walls were plastered with sports memorabilia, jerseys of local heroes and faded photographs of past games. The flickering lights of the numerous screens cast dancing shadows on the faces of the people.

Waitresses weaved their way through the throng, balancing trays laden with overflowing pitchers of beer and plates piled high with nachos and chicken wings. Every eye glued to the screens showcasing the nail-biting basketball game.

You spotted Suguru at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he focused on the game. His back was to you. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, standing beside him and mirroring his gaze towards the screen.

"Think they'll try a full-court press now?" you said.

"I doubt it," he replied, not looking away from the screen. "They're already down by ten with only two minutes left. It's too risky."

"True," you agreed. "But they need to create some turnovers fast if they want any chance of a comeback."

"You know your basketball." He finally turned his head, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Hi," you said, raising your hand in a half-hearted wave and immediately regretting it when you realized how awkward it felt and let your hand fall to your side. You slid onto the stool next to him, the vinyl squeaking slightly.

"Oh hi," Suguru said. "Sorry, I didn't even realize it was you. Didn't expect you to be into basketball."

"My dad played in university. Some of it rubbed off on me, I guess."

Suguru then waved at the bartender. "What do you want?" he asked you, smiling.

You watched him take a sip of the beer in front of him. "I'll have the same," you replied, returning his smile.

The bartender, a burly man with a handlebar mustache, nodded and swiftly retrieved a chilled bottle from the cooler. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he popped the cap and set it before you, the condensation already forming tiny droplets on the smooth glass. You took a sip.

You couldn't help but notice how good Suguru looked outside the clinical setting. His usual white coat and scrubs were replaced by a casual outfit that somehow amplified his attractiveness.

His long, black hair was pulled back into a half bun, a few stray strands framing his face. He wore a simple shirt with an overshirt layered on top, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing surprisingly muscular arms.

Damn, you thought to yourself, trying to subtly avert your gaze. He's definitely not your average doctor. But you're definitely not your average patient too, to be fair.

"It's great to see you outside the clinic," Suguru said. "How have you been? Is your medication working well?"

You rolled your eyes. "I thought we agreed not to talk about medication and stuff outside of the hospital?"

"You're right, sorry. I guess I don't talk about much else often...might be getting a bit rusty," he said, sounding like a grandfather.

"So, no hobbies or interests besides medicine, huh?"

"Not much, to be honest."

"Besides a certain woman, that is," you teased.

His eyes met yours with a deadpan face. "Didn't we agree not to talk about such things outside of the hospital?"

You took another sip of your beer, feigning innocence. "Did we?"

"Now we did."

"Hmm," you hummed, eyeing him curiously.

Suguru looked at his beer briefly, then nearly whispered, "Did Satoru often talk about her?"

You bit your lip, suppressing the urge to tell him just how much he actually talked about her. Memories of countless appointments with Dr. Gojo flooded back. He'd often ramble on about her, their shared studies, the things he loved about her—

You even found yourself dreaming about the color of her eyes once, just because he'd mentioned them so often. The image of Gojo's lovestruck face whenever he mentioned his girlfriend flashed before your eyes.

No, you decided. Some things are better left unsaid.

"No, not really," you lied smoothly, taking another sip of your beer. Time for a subject change, you thought, maybe something to distract him from his lovesickness. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have a seriously intense stare?"

Smooth, real smooth, subject change.

"A few people have mentioned it," he said, caught off guard. "But it didn't seem to bother you."

"Yeah, because underneath, you looked sad. Like a sad little puppy."

"Haha," he said ironically.

"So, really no hobbies? Besides basketball, it seems."

"Not a die-hard fan, but I enjoy it.” His eyes briefly darted back to the game on the screen. "I used to play a bit myself. Back in high school and university." He paused, a fond smile playing on his lips. "Satoru and I were on the same team."

"But you don't play anymore?"

"No." His smile vanished. "We started together but Satoru eventually quit in the second year of university to focus on his studies. It wasn't much fun after he left the team, and I quit some time after."

"Hm," you mused, taking another sip of your beer. "Who was the better player? You or Gojo?"

His smile returned. "Oh, I was definitely better. But if you ask him, he'll say he's the better player. But don't tell him I said that. I wouldn't want to bruise his ego."

You laughed. "I'll keep your secret."

"So, who's your team?" he asked.

"Lakers, all the way. Been a fan since I was a kid."

"Good choice. They're looking strong this year."

"Totally. Though their defense has me a bit worried."

"Fair point," Suguru said. "But with LeBron and Davis, they're still very strong."

"No doubt. I'm hoping they can make a deep playoff run this season."

Just then, someone knocked over a glass a few tables away, drawing both your attention to the commotion. Once it settled down, Suguru turned back to you, taking a sip of his beer. "Now, how about you, why do you want to become an attorney?"

You hesitated, thinking. "Because it pays well."

He raised an eyebrow. "Can you give me another reason?"

You hesitated, thinking harder.

You bit your lip. Okay, you got his, think. Why law school? It's not like you're passionate about legal shit or courtroom drama. You hated the stuffy suits, the endless paperwork, and the cutthroat competition. So, what was it?

Maybe it's the power? The ability to fight for justice, to make a difference in the world? You scoffed inwardly. Yeah, right. More like the ability to argue with anyone and everyone, even if you're wrong.

Perhaps it's the prestige? The fancy title, the corner office, the envious glances from your childhood school friends? You rolled your eyes at yourself. Please. Who are you kidding?

So, what's left? you wondered, a hint of frustration creeping into your thoughts.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

You sighed, defeated. The truth was, you didn't have a good answer. You'd stumbled into law school on a whim, following some vague idea of success and stability. But now, as you neared graduation, you were beginning to realize that maybe this wasn't the path for you.

That you didn't even like it.

"I... I don't know, exactly," you finally admitted. "I guess I come from a working-class family. My parents always emphasized the importance of a stable career, something safe and secure. Law seemed like a good option."

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of judgment. "Is that a bad reason?"

He paused. "Not necessarily," he said slowly. "Stability and security are important. It's valid to go for that. But they shouldn't be the only reason."

"Yeah," you agreed, taking a sip from your beer. As he watched you, you suddenly felt exposed under the gaze of this man you barely knew. "How did you know you wanted to do medicine?" you asked, hoping to shift the focus away from your own uncertainties.

"It wasn't a sudden realization," he began. "It was more of a gradual understanding. I've always been fascinated by the human body, the way it works, the way it heals. And I wanted to be a part of that process, to help people in some way."

He paused, his expression turning somber for a moment. "It's not always easy," he admitted. "There are long hours, difficult cases, and fucked-up moments. But at the end of the day, when I see a patient getting better, smile again… It makes it all worthwhile."

"Sounds like you found your calling," you said, a touch of envy in your voice.

"I did," he agreed. "But there were times, especially during my residency, when I thought about quitting. The stress was insane, the workload never-ending. But I had a few close friends who kept me going. They reminded me why I'd chosen this path in the first place. It's important to have people who believe in you, even when you doubt yourself."

A light smile spread across your face as you thought of Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji, your mismatched but fiercely loyal friends. They were the ones who made you laugh until your sides ached, who listened to your endless rants about law school, and who always had your back, no matter what. You were so grateful to have them in your life.

Then, curiosity got the better of you. "So, Dr. Gojo was that person for you? Helped you through the tough times?"

"Satoru? Help me? More like he's the reason why I almost went insane." Suguru huffed and shook his head. "He was always getting into trouble, always pushing the limits. I was the one constantly having to chase after him, keeping him in check."

"Sounds like you two have quite the history."

"Yeah, we do." His smile faded slightly as he looked down at his beer, gripping it a little tighter.

Right, touchy subject, you remembered. Back in the MRI room, he'd mentioned they'd drifted apart. You quickly decided to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

"Hey, let's get some shots!" you exclaimed, waving over a bartender. "My treat."

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted me to show you the city?"

"Yeah, well, it's kinda chilly out there," you said, waving a hand dismissively.

You'd almost forgotten the little white lie you'd told him to get him to go out with you. You've lived in Tokyo your whole life. You could probably offer to show him around. It's not like he seems to ever leave the clinic.

"Besides, who needs sightseeing when you can have shots?" you added.

The bartender arrived, and you ordered a round, telling him to surprise you.

"What are you planning with those?" Suguru asked as the bartender lined up the glasses, each filled with a different vibrant liquid.

"How about a game? We each make assumptions about the other, and if we're right, the other person has to take a shot."

"The doctor in me should probably stop us from drinking mindlessly," Suguru said, eyeing the glasses before him. "I'm game."

"Great." You took a deep breath, trying to gauge his personality beyond the white coat. "Assumption number one, you were a total nerd in high school."

"Wow, your assumption about the doctor is that he was a nerd in school? Isn't that like, a given for anyone who studies medicine?"

"But is it true?" you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

He hesitated for a second. "Guilty as charged." He raised his first shot glass in surrender, beige liquid disappearing between his lips. "Math club, science fairs, the whole deal."

"Ugh, really? Math club?"

"Don't judge me," he said. "It wasn't that lame."

You eyed him skeptically.

He sighed. "Okay, okay, it was lame. One point for you. My turn." Suguru narrowed his eyes playfully. "Hmm, let's see... Assumption number one, you have a secret passion for something completely unexpected."

"Wow. You've gotta be a little more specific than that. That's lame."

He leaned in a bit closer, his gaze sweeping over your face. A sudden warmth spread through your cheeks. "You're into art."

Your breath hitched. For a split second, you wondered if he was some kind of mind reader or a magician with a hidden crystal ball. Or probably stalked your Instagram. "How did you—"

He pointed to your forehead. You quickly reached up and found a tiny blue dot near your hairline that you must have forgotten to wash off. "You really pay close attention to details," you said as you wiped it off.

"Occupational hazard," he replied with a shrug and a hint of a smile. "I'm a doctor, it's my job to spot even the smallest clues."

"Well, you got me."

"What kind of art do you do?" he asked.

You hesitated for a moment, a wave of self-consciousness washing over you. You'd never really shared your love for painting with anyone, not even your closest friends.

"I... I paint," you finally said. "It's just a hobby, really."

"But it's more than a hobby, isn't it?"

You looked away, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. He was right. Painting was more than just a hobby. It was a passion, a dream. But nothing worth pursuing.

"Enough about me," you said, drawing the purple shot, blueberry you assumed, in front of you in one go. You wanted to steer the conversation away from yourself, at least for now. It felt too raw, too exposed. "Let's get back to the game. My turn for an assumption."

You paused dramatically, tapping your finger on the bar counter as if deep in thought. "Okay, here it is, You always dreamed of being a neurosurgeon, like you were obsessed with it."

"Wrong," he said. "Not even close."

"You wanted to do something else?"

"Well, there was a brief period in my residency when I considered gynecology."

You leaned forward, your eyebrows shooting up. "Gynecology? Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Can't a guy like gynecology too?"

"No, I mean... I just didn't expect it, that's all. But you ended up with neurosurgery. How'd that happen?"

"Neurology has always fascinated me. The brain, the nervous system—It's all so complex, so intricate. And Satoru was into it too. He was always the one drawn to surgery, the adrenaline rush of the operating room. I guess I just followed his lead." He paused. "I don't even know why, really."

"But you enjoy surgery, right?" you asked.

"I do. It's challenging, rewarding, and sometimes even a bit thrilling. But if I'm being completely honest, I think I'm more suited to research and teaching. You know, figuring out the mysteries of the brain, sharing what I know."

"And that's how we met, isn't it?" you said, smiling. "Me, the patient with the mysterious brain thing, and you, the doctor trying to crack the case."

"I guess you could say that. But epilepsy isn't that uncommon. About 50 million people worldwide have it."

"Come on, let me feel special for a second, doc."

A warm smile spread across his face. "Okay, okay. But I must admit, you're more captivating than I first realized, attorney."

His words sent a flutter through your stomach. Was that a compliment or an insult? you wondered, but the warmth in his eyes made you lean towards the former.

The bar's noise faded into the background as you became lost in your own little world. It was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you.

"And what did you think of me, then?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. "I thought you were... intriguing," he finally said, his voice husky. "Intelligent, witty, and surprisingly resilient. But also a bit stubborn and stupid."

"Ouch," you said.

For a heartbeat, your eyes locked with his, and your stomach fluttered, a sensation you hadn't experienced in a long time. The bar's dim lights cast a soft glow on Suguru's face, highlighting his ridiculously attractive features in a way that made it impossible to look away.

Heat crawled up your neck and you tore your eyes away. "It's kind of stuffy in here, or not?" you said, fanning yourself with your hand.

"Wanna grab some air?" he suggested.

The cool night air was a welcome balm against your flushed skin. Suguru reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You watched him, surprised.

"You smoke? A doctor, no less."

He lit his cigarette with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Don't get on my case, attorney," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke into the night sky. "Everyone has their vices."

"I suppose," you said, leaning against the brick wall of the bar. "But I thought doctors were supposed to be, like, paragons of health and virtue."

He shrugged, taking another drag. "We're only human. We have our flaws, just like everyone else."

"Is it true what they say, that doctors are always self-medicating?"

"Are you asking me if I do drugs?" he asked.

"That's what you're implying now."

He took another drag. "I don't. But I've seen it, yeah. More than you would think."

"Should I be scared?"

He laughed, warm and full. A sound you could definitely get used to. "I'd probably stick with me, yeah."

"Just the nicotine addict then," you said. "Seems manageable."

And seeing him smile like that—

"It's good to see you smile," you added softly, almost without thinking.

He met your gaze, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. You could almost see him noticing the lightness in his own demeanor, so different to the usual somberness that clung to him back in the clinic. Maybe it was the casual setting, the relaxed atmosphere, or perhaps it was simply your company.

Whatever it was, you were glad to see this side of him.

A slow breeze swept through the alley, carrying a hint of autumn's chill. You shivered, realizing you'd left your jacket inside the bar in your haste to escape the heat. Suguru noticed. "You cold?"

"A little," you admitted.

Without a word, he shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric, still carrying his scent, enveloped you, chasing away the chill. And without the jacket, his physique was on full display.

The simple shirt clung to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest. His forearms, exposed by the short sleeves, were corded with muscle. You tried your best to focus on the conversation, but let's be real, it was a struggle not to stare.

"Thanks." You pulled his jacket closer, trying to play it cool. "I didn't realize it would get so cool out here."

"No problem. Better than catching a cold, right?"

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the jacket. This is not a date, you reminded yourself. Not a date. He's technically your doctor. But then again, what doctor goes to a sports bar with their patient?

Something must be wrong with him.

The math club thing was already a red flag.

"So," he said, breaking the silence, "who's your favorite artist?"

You blinked, surprised by the question. "My favorite artist? Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "Just curious."

You hesitated, then the words started tumbling out. You rambled on about William Turner's dramatic seascapes, how his brushstrokes captured the rawness of nature. You gushed about the hidden symbolism in Botticelli's "Primavera" and the emotional intensity of Munch's "The Scream."

You even shared your newfound fascination with contemporary artists like Yayoi Kusama and her mesmerizing infinity rooms. Suguru listened patiently, his eyes never leaving yours as you went on and on.

Oh shit.

You're doing it again, aren't you? A wave of self-consciousness washing over you. Rambling on and on about art. He's probably bored out of his mind. You bit your lip, wishing you could reel back the words, but it was too late. The art gusher had been unleashed.

Why do you always do this?

"Sorry," you finally said, breathless and embarrassed. "I tend to get carried away when I talk about art."

He laughed again, warm, comforting. "Don't apologize. It's good to see someone so passionate about something. It's contagious."

You smiled, surprised that you hadn't completely embarrassed yourself. Somehow, the conversation with Suguru flowed so easily. You found yourself enjoying his company, his wit, and his genuine interest. You enjoyed being with him.

"So," Suguru said, "if you had to pick just one favorite artist, who would it be?"

"Hard to choose. But if I had to pick just one, it would probably be William Turner."

"Turner?" he echoed. "I'll have to look him up."

"What about you? Do you have a favorite painter?"

"Not really. But I haven't seen your paintings yet," he said. "I guess I know who my favorite painter will be then."

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, his words sending a shiver down your spine. Did he just...? Was he flirting with you?

Before you could gather your thoughts and formulate a response, Suguru cleared his throat, breaking the spell. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Shall we go back inside?"

You nodded.

The warmth and stale air of the bar hit you like a wall as you stepped back inside. And you might have had a bit too much to drink at this point, you realized. As you made your way back to your seats, a group of men at the bar caught Suguru's eye.

"Hey, Suguru!" one of them called out, waving him over. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight. Care to join us for a game of darts?"

Suguru hesitated, glancing at you. "I'm actually with—"

"Sure, we'd love to!" you interjected, meeting his gaze. "I love darts."

Suguru's eyebrows shot up. "You do?"

"Sure, I mean, it can't be that hard, right?"

"You sure you wanna join them? We usually bet too," he said.

"Oh, even better."

Suguru eyed you weary. He was probably already calculating the damage to his wallet if your dart-throwing skills were anything like your general clumsiness.

You made your way over to the group, and Suguru quickly introduced you. He rattled off a series of names, but honestly, they all blurred together. Tall men, some handsome, some not. All very confident. Some with questionable facial hair choices.

One of them, a tall guy with a mop of curly hair, handed you a beer, uncapped it, and raised his own in a toast. "Welcome to the crew. Suguru here doesn't usually bring company, so you must be special."

You looked over your shoulder to meet Suguru's eyes with a look that said, Oh, you really are a loner, huh? He just sighed at you in response.

"So," the curly-haired guy continued, "did you play before, or are we gonna have to go easy on you?"

You shrugged. "I'm not completely hopeless." You could practically hear Suguru's internal groan beside you.

"Alright, everyone," the curly-haired guy announced, grabbing a notepad and pen. "Let's get the bets in. We doing teams of two again?"

A chorus of eager voices responded, each man vying for the chance to challenge the new couple in the group. You and Suguru, to be exact.

You stepped up to the dartboard. "So," you said, picking up a dart and examining it, "how exactly do you hold this thing?" A collective groan erupted from the group. Suguru's smile vanished.

Oh boy, you could practically hear him thinking, this is going to be a disaster.

One of the men, blonde hair, eager to show off, stepped forward. "Here, let me show you—"

But before he could reach you, Suguru smoothly interjected. "Allow me," he said, gently taking the dart from your hand.

He positioned himself behind you. His hand enveloped yours, his fingers warm and strong against your own. He adjusted your grip, his touch lingering on your skin. His other hand rested lightly on your lower back, a subtle yet electrifying touch that made your stomach flutter.

"Like this," he said, his voice close to your ear. "Relax your grip, focus on your target, and let it fly."

You could feel his breath on your neck, his chest rising and falling against your back with each inhale and exhale. Your senses were overwhelmed — the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the soft rumble of his voice in your ear.

You struggled to focus on the dartboard, your mind reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the moment. You hadn't quite anticipated this, but you didn't hate it.

Maybe you even... liked it.

For a moment, you forgot all about the game, the bets, the curious onlookers.

"Got it?" Suguru's voice.

You nodded, your cheeks flushed.

"Alright then," one of the guys called out, short black hair, freckles, clapping his hands together. "Let's get this show on the road!"

The men took their turns, each showcasing their varying levels of skill. Some landed their darts with precision, while others elicited groans and playful jeers from the group.

Throughout it all, Suguru remained close, his arms crossed over his broad chest, occasionally brushing against your shoulder as you observed the others' attempts. You could practically feel his tension mounting with every throw.

Finally, it was your turn. You stepped up to the throwing line, all eyes on you, amusement and skepticism painted on their faces.

"Wait, where do I stand again?" you asked.

A few chuckles rippled through the group. You could practically hear Suguru's wallet crying in his pocket.

One of the guys, brown shoulder-length hair, stepped forward. "Bit closer here—"

But before he could reach you, you smoothly turned, your arm extending in a perfect arc. The dart flew through the air, landing with a satisfying thunk right in the bullseye.

Dead silence.

Then, a collective gasp, followed by a chorus of disbelieving exclamations. "Bullseye!" someone shouted. "No way!" another one exclaimed.

Suguru's jaw practically hit the floor. He stared at the dartboard, then at you, like he'd never seen you before. "You—" he stammered, clearly at a loss for words. "You're good?"

You turned to face him, a grin spreading across your face. "Told you I wasn't completely hopeless." You sauntered back to Suguru, leaving the men in stunned silence. You reached for the beer he'd been holding for you, taking a long sip. "So, we're splitting the winnings 50/50, right, Doc?"

Suguru, still a bit dazed, blinked a few times before a slow grin spread across his face. "Deal."

The rest of the game was a blur of laughter, trash talk, and cheers.

Freckles-guy gave your shoulders a quick massage before your next turn. Long brown hair got you another beer. Suguru was frantically trying to keep up with your score on the notepad, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

The bar erupted when you landed another bullseye. Strangers high-fived you, and suddenly the whole place seemed to be watching. The bartender even announced a round of free shots on the house.

At one point, you ended up on Suguru's shoulders. Bullseye. You even tried throwing blindfolded, spinning around, and then letting one fly. Bullseye again. Okay, not every shot was a bullseye, but they were damn close.

Then there was that one time Suguru pulled you close, his lips brushing the top of your head in a playful kiss. You barely knew him, but even you knew that was surprising. He was so unlike the composed surgeon you'd met in his office. It threw you off so much you almost missed your next shot, but you still nailed it.

Another bullseye. Seriously.

You were about to hand off your beer to Suguru so you could take your next turn, when some large figure bumped into you, sending a wave of cold beer cascading down your front.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" a male voice exclaimed, red hair.

You looked down at your shirt, now soaked in a sticky, amber-colored mess.

"Are you okay?" Suguru's voice.

You looked up to see him standing protectively in front of you, his eyes narrowed at the clumsy culprit.

"I'm fine," you said, trying to brush off the sticky residue. "I'll be right back." You quickly made your way to the women's restroom, leaving him standing amidst the lingering stares of curious onlookers.

Once inside the dimly lit bathroom, you assessed the damage. The sticky liquid had soaked through your shirt, leaving a large, unsightly stain right across your chest. You groaned inwardly. Of all the nights to spill a drink on yourself, you thought, it had to be tonight.

You turned on the faucet, hoping to at least rinse off some of the sticky residue. But as you dabbed at the stain with a damp paper towel, it only seemed to spread further, creating a chaotic blend of colors that resembled a modern art masterpiece gone wrong.

"Great," you muttered to yourself, throwing the soggy paper towel in the trash. "This is just perfect."

You tried blotting the stain with another paper towel, then with hand soap, then with a random assortment of toiletries you found under the sink. But nothing seemed to work. In fact, it seemed like you were only making it worse.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. Your once-put-together appearance was now a disheveled mess. Your hair was slightly damp from the frantic cleaning attempts, and your shirt looked like it had been attacked by a bear or so.

Just my luck, you thought, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

In a final act of desperation, you grabbed a wad of toilet paper and scrubbed at the stain like a madman. The flimsy fabric of your shirt, already weakened by the moisture, couldn't withstand the onslaught. With a sickening ripping sound, a small tear appeared near the neckline, rapidly expanding into a gaping hole.

You stared at the damage in disbelief. "Seriously?" you groaned, throwing your hands up in defeat. This night just keeps getting better and better.

You glanced at your watch, your eyes widening in horror. You'd been holed up in the bathroom for almost fifteen minutes. Suguru must be wondering what on earth was taking you so long.

Panic set in.

You couldn't go back out there looking like this. Your shirt was beyond repair, and you certainly couldn't walk around half-naked in a crowded bar.

Your eyes darted around the bathroom, searching for anything that could salvage the situation. A roll of duct tape? A strategically placed safety pin? A magical fairy godmother with a sewing kit? No such luck.

Just as you were contemplating your options — which seemed to range from hiding in the bathroom forever to fashioning a makeshift bandage out of toilet paper — a gentle knock sounded on the door.

"Attorney?" Suguru's voice filtered through the thin wood. "Everything alright in there?"

"Just a minute!" you called back, your voice slightly muffled as you frantically rummaged under the bathroom sink cabinet for something, anything, to help you out. In your haste, you stood up too quickly, forgetting about the low-hanging sink. Your head collided with the porcelain with a resounding thwack.

"Ow!" you yelped, clutching your head.

"Attorney?" Suguru's voice was laced with concern now. "What was that? Did you hurt yourself?"

"Nothing!" you lied, wincing at the throbbing pain. "Just... dropped something."

You heard the doorknob rattle, then Suguru's voice again, more insistent this time. "I'm coming in."

Before you could protest, the door swung open, revealing a worried Suguru. His eyes scanned the bathroom, taking in the scene — the ruined shirt in the sink, the damp paper towels scattered on the counter, and you, clutching your forehead with a grimace, wearing nothing but your bra and jeans.

He quickly averted his gaze. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You groaned, still clutching your head. "I hit my head on the sink. It's nothing serious, just a bump."

"Let me see," he said, cautiously turning his gaze back to you. He walked over, careful to keep his eyes focused on your face. He gently tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes were filled with concern as he examined the growing bump on your forehead.

"It's not too bad." A relieved sigh escaped his lips. "But we should probably head home and put some ice on it."

"I'm sorry, I'm such a mess," you said.

"A mess? You're a dart champion, as far as I'm concerned."

"Told you I like sports bars," you quipped, attempting a weak smile.

An awkward silence hung in the air, broken only by the muffled sounds of the bar's revelry filtering through the door. You fidgeted, acutely aware of your exposed skin and the warmth radiating from Suguru's close proximity.

"Here," he said suddenly. "Take this."

You looked up to see him pulling his shirt over his head, revealing a sculpted torso that could rival any Greek god statue. Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes widening involuntarily. He handed you the soft cotton shirt.

You took the shirt, your fingers brushing against his as you did so. A jolt of electricity shot through you, and you quickly pulled your hand back.

"Thanks." You pulled the shirt over your head. It was warm from his body, and the scent of his cologne clung to the fabric, sandalwood and something else you couldn't quite place.

Suguru quickly slipped back into his overshirt, buttoning it up. "Better?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

"Much better. Thank you."

"You know, for a future lawyer, you seem to attract a fair bit of chaos."

"It's a blessing. Or maybe a curse. I haven't quite decided yet."

"Well," he said. "It certainly makes life interesting."

You couldn't help but laugh, but the sound caught in your throat as a sharp pain throbbed through your forehead. You winced, bringing a hand to your head.

"Whoa, you okay?" Suguru asked.

"My head," you mumbled, the pain intensifying. "Think I hit it harder than I thought."

In an instant, he was all doctor again. He gently tilted your chin up, his fingers cool against your flushed skin. His eyes, now serious and focused, scanned your face, searching for any signs of a concussion.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?"

You shook your head slightly, your gaze locked with his. You were so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was intoxicating. No, that can't be—It must be the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.

"Just a bump," you assured him, your voice barely a whisper. "It'll be fine."

He continued his examination, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw, the curve of your cheek. His touch was gentle, yet electrifying, making your knees weak.

"You're sure?" he asked again, his voice husky.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his. The air between you crackled, the boundaries between doctor and patient blurring once again.

"Yeah, I'm sure," you repeated.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, almost tentatively, he leaned in closer. His face was inches from yours now, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest.

"So," he began, “what exactly did you do to your shirt to end up like this?"

You burst into laughter, the sound slightly breathless. "Oh, it's a long story."

"You really are chaotic, aren't you?" He reached out then, his fingers lightly brushing over your cheek. You took a sharp inhale.

"I'm sorry, I'm a little bit drunk, I think," he said, his gaze fixed on your lips. Oh god, why did he have to look at your lips with those perfect eyes?

You nodded, your lips parting slightly. "It's okay, I think I'm a little tipsy too." The words caught in your throat, replaced by a silent plea for him to close the remaining distance between you.

"We should probably head back inside," he said.

"Is that a question?"

"I mean... we should go back," he stammered, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes.

"Do you want to go back?"

"Don't ask me that."

"Why?" you whispered, leaning closer.

"You know why, attorney."

"But it's my job to get clear answers," you countered. "I can't make decisions based on mere assumptions."

He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours sent a wave of heat through you, and you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

"I could get in serious trouble for this," he said. "A doctor and his patient..."

"Only if someone sues you," you teased. "And I'm not gonna sue you."

"How old are you again?"

"You know how old I am."

The possibilities hung in the air, heavy, unexpected, irresistible. You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the smooth skin beneath your fingertips.

Suguru's breath hitched at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. When he opened them again, the intensity in his gaze stole your breath away. It was as if he'd finally surrendered to the pull between you, the last of his reservations crumbling away.

"Ah, fuck it," he said.

Before you could react, his lips crashed against yours. You gasped at the sudden contact, your lips parting in surprise, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours.

The kiss lit a fire in you, a heat that spread from your lips to the tips of your toes. His hands roamed your body, one tangling in your hair to tilt your head for better access, the other spreading across the small of your back to press you tightly against him.

You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt. He kissed you like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy his hunger. The room was spinning, the world tilting on its axis, and all you could focus on was the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your body, the way he made you feel like nothing else existed but this moment.

His hands were everywhere, skimming over your sides, teasing the swell of your breasts through your, sorry, his shirt, leaving you gasping for more. You arched into his touch, craving more, needing to feel skin against skin.

In that moment, you didn't care about the consequences.

Suguru's hands drifted lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you harder against him. You couldn't resist grinding against him, chasing that maddening friction, that perfect pressure right where you needed it most. He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating through you.

Desperate for more, you slid your hands under his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his chest, feeling the muscles twitch and flex beneath your touch. He shuddered, his abs contracting as your fingers danced over his heated skin.

Breaking the kiss, Suguru trailed his lips down your jaw, nipping and sucking as he made his way to your throat. You let your head fall back, giving him better access, a breathy moan escaping you.

"Keep making sounds like that and I won't be able to stop myself from fucking you right here," he warned.

His words made your head spin. The idea of him bending you over the sink and claiming you, right here in this dingy bathroom with a bar full of people just outside — it was reckless, stupid, the most brilliantly terrible idea you'd ever had.

"Maybe that's what I want," you dared, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging, urging him on. "Maybe I want you to take me right here.”

Let's be real, you were beyond caring about propriety or the risk of getting caught. All you cared about was the man in front of you and the heat he ignited within you.

You could feel him smile against your skin. “Oh really?”

As Suguru's lips moved against yours, his hands began to explore your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs. He pulled you closer, his fingers digging into skin as he ground against you, letting you feel exactly what you were doing to him.

The hard, heavy press of his erection against you made you moan into his mouth, your body arching into his. Holy shit, he was huge, you could already tell. Your knees nearly buckled at the thought of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so full you could barely breathe.

God, you needed him.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark as he reached down to fumble with the button of your jeans. You couldn't help but gasp as he finally got them open, his fingers slipping inside, seeking the warmth between your legs.

He traced the outline of your underwear, lingering on the damp patch where your arousal had already begun to soak through the material.

"Fuck, you're so wet." He groaned, his eyes closing. "Can I?"

Your eyes snapped open. "Did you seriously just ask permission to finger me?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers under the edge of your underwear and tugged it aside. The first touch of his fingers against your core made you moan. He was so warm, his skin rough and calloused in the best way as he slid two thick digits deep inside you.

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, your head falling back against the wall.

He pumped his fingers in and out, setting a deep, slow rhythm. The wet sounds of him finger-fucking you echoed off the bathroom tiles, along with your desperate pants and bitten-off curses. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, coating his fingers and dripping down your thighs.

Suguru captured your lips in another kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to dance with yours. It was messy and frantic, more panting into each other's mouths than any real skill, but fuck if it wasn't the hottest thing you'd ever felt.

With his free hand, he grabbed hold of yours and pinned it above your head, his fingers lacing with yours. The cold press of the wall against your heated skin made you shiver, making every touch and sensation feel even more intense.

His fingers worked you mercilessly, curling and scissoring and rubbing in all the right ways. You could feel your orgasm building embarrassingly fast, your inner walls starting to clench around him.

Fuck, you'd never gotten this close this quickly with anyone else, never felt so utterly fucking wrecked with just a few touches.

Just as you were teetering on the very edge, your thighs shaking and your moans picking up in pitch, the bathroom door suddenly flew open with a bang.

"Oh my god!" a startled voice yelped. "Sorry!"

Suguru immediately slipped his fingers out of you, and you scrambled to pull your jeans back up, your face on fire. The woman booked it out of there, slamming the door behind her and leaving you both in the most awkward silence of your life.

Suguru cleared his throat, taking a step back and rubbing the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eyes. "Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have... that was way out of line."

You stared at the floor, your cheeks burning hotter than the surface of the sun. "It's fine," you said. "We're both drunk. Alcohol makes people do dumb shit."

The silence stretched out between you, thick and heavy and so fucking uncomfortable you wanted to scream. You kept replaying the kiss, the way he touched you, the feel of his fingers inside you — it sent shivers down your spine, even as shame turned your stomach to lead.

You'd never done anything like this before — making out with someone you barely knew, letting him finger-fuck you in a gross sports bar bathroom after knowing him for like, five hours. What were you thinking?

Part of you wanted to die of embarrassment, to sink through the floor and disappear forever. But another part of you didn't want this night to end.

Suguru was exciting, different. And somehow it felt so easy. Easy to talk, easy to laugh, easy to — be yourself. And that was something you hadn't felt in a long time.

Finally, Suguru broke the silence. "We should probably get you home," he said. "We had a lot to drink, and you hit your head. I want to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah," you agreed. "Home sounds good."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

You wanted to forget that night.

Bury the memory of Dr. Suguru Geto's hands between your legs six feet under and never dig it up again. But no, your brain had other plans. It was like trying to unsee a particularly embarrassing video of yourself — technically possible, but your brain seemed determined to keep replaying it on loop.

Back at the law firm, you navigated the busy corridors, two steaming cups of coffee clutched in your hands. One was for Mr. Higurama, your mentor, and the other was for your own sanity.

Higurama was one of the best. Without him, you'd have bailed on this stupid internship within the first week. He was meticulous, dedicated, and knew the law like the back of his hand. But he was also, let's be honest, a bit strange.

He'd rather spend his weekends reading dusty old legal texts than having a life. And his obsession with obscure legal trivia was — something else. He'd drop those obscure historical law facts that left everyone scratching their heads.

Maybe that's why you two clicked. You were both the oddballs in a sea of perfectly polished lawyers.

As you rounded the corner, you spotted him — the intern whose name you could never remember, but who you'd mentally dubbed "Chad" for his obnoxious attitude and perfectly-gelled hair. He was strutting towards you, his tailored suit and smug grin practically screaming "I'm better than you."

"Well, well, well," he drawled. "Look who's playing coffee delivery girl."

He reached out a hand, expecting you to hand over one of the cups. You sidestepped him. "Nice try, Chad," you retorted, continuing your walk towards Mr. Higurama's office.

You could hear his indignant huff behind you. "That's not my name!"

You just rolled your eyes and kept walking, a smile tugging at your lips. Whatever, Chad, you thought to yourself. His name is the least of your problems right now.

You knocked lightly on Mr. Higurama's door, a nervous flutter returning to your stomach. Even after weeks, you still couldn't shake the feeling of being a fish out of water in this fancy law firm.

"Come in!" Mr. Higurama's voice called out.

You pushed open the door, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of your mentor. He was buried under a mountain of paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked up with a start as you entered.

"Oh, hey," he said, blinking in surprise. "You're a lifesaver. I was just about to send someone out for a caffeine fix."

He glanced at his watch, his expression suddenly turning serious. "Oh shit, we're running late," he said, scrambling to gather the scattered papers on his desk. "We need to leave for that client meeting in five minutes."

"No problem," you said, trying to sound calm despite the sudden rush. "I'm ready."

You walked over to his desk, carefully balancing the coffee cups in one hand. As you reached for a stack of files, your foot caught on the corner of the rug, sending you stumbling forward. The coffee cup lurched in your hand, its contents splashing onto the neatly organized papers on Mr. Higurama's desk.

You froze, the coffee dripping from the once-pristine documents.

Higurama looked up at you, his face a mask of — well, you weren't sure what. This wasn't the first time you'd pulled a stunt like this.

"I'm so sorry. I swear I'm not doing this on purpose,” you said.

But before you knew it, you were in the car. No time to reprint the papers, apparently. With a resigned sigh, Higurama quickly gathered the damp forms, and you both rushed out to his car.

The drive was filled with a tense silence. You wanted to disappear into the car seat, your embarrassment a heavy weight on your chest. Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

"So," you ventured cautiously, "what's this client meeting about?"

"We're going to the hospital," he said. "A group of doctors is in a bit of a... difficult situation."

"Oh, is it related to a patient?"

Higurama let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Don't ask," he said, his tone more tired than annoyed.

You shrank back into your seat, deciding to keep your mouth shut for the rest of the ride.

Higurama led you through a maze of corridors, his footsteps echoing on the polished linoleum floor of the hospital. Though you were somewhat familiar with the building from your visits to Dr. Gojo, this particular wing was kind of new to you.

As you approached the meeting room, you could hear the muffled sounds of a heated discussion. Higurama paused, straightening his tie and composing his features into his usual stoic mask.

You were kind of freaking out. A case involving doctors? That was new. Seemed unusual for Higurama too, since you both usually dealt with international affairs. Must be a special case. Higurama pushed open the door, and you stepped into the conference room.

And then you saw him.

No, them — both of them.

Dr. Gojo.

And Suguru.

They were sitting at the far end of the table, Suguru's arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Your heart lurched in my chest, surprise and mortification flooding through you.

Oh my god, you thought. He's one of the doctors.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. The man you'd nearly fucked in that filthy bathroom just a few nights ago, the man whose lips you could still feel on yours — was now your client. The embarrassment of the situation threatened to swallow you whole, and you desperately wished you could disappear into thin air.

Suguru and Dr. Gojo were locked in a heated debate. Their voices rose and fell, words a flurry of medical words and frustrated exclamations.

"That's why we should do biomarkers that could help identify patients at higher risk," Gojo said.

"We can't ignore the data," Suguru countered. "The preliminary results show a significant increase in CAR-T cell persistence with the modified construct. We need to investigate this further."

"But the neurotoxicity risk," Gojo argued, his tone equally firm. "We can't overlook the potential complications. We need to refine the targeting strategy, minimize off-target effects."

"We can address those concerns in subsequent phases," Suguru argued back. "We can't afford to stall progress."

The argument escalated, their voices echoing through the room. Dr. Gojo stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He strode to the whiteboard, scribbling something furiously with a marker. They still hadn't noticed you.

You wanted to flee, to crawl into a hole and die. You took a step back, then another, ready to make a run for it, but Higurama's hand shot out, gripping your blazer and holding you in place. He gave you a look that said he wanted to flee just as much as you did.

Oh god, please let this be over soon.

Suddenly, Higurama cleared his throat.

Both doctors turned around, surprise plastered on their faces as they noticed you and Higurama standing there. Suguru's eyes met yours for a split second, and you could practically feel the awkwardness radiating off of him before you quickly looked away. The knot in your stomach tightened.

Dr. Gojo, however, recovered quickly, a charming smile spreading across his face as he saw you. "Oh, hey. Didn't expect to see you here too."

You managed a weak smile. "Hello, Dr. Gojo."

"How have you been feeling?" Gojo asked you. "Any side effects from the medication?"

"Fine," you replied curtly. "No problems."

Gojo's gaze lingered on you for a moment. "And how's Suguru treating you? Is he taking good care of you?"

God, please have mercy on me, you thought, your cheeks burning even hotter. But before you could answer, Suguru quickly interjected, his voice firm. "Perhaps we should get started with the meeting."

Higurama gestured towards the empty chairs around the table. "Shall we sit down?"

You all took your seats, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a scalpel. Higurama cleared his throat again, his gaze sweeping across the room. "I believe we all know why we're here today," he began, his tone professional and matter-of-fact.

"Actually, we don't," Gojo deadpanned. "Yaga didn't tell us anything."

Higurama looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die. Same, you thought.

"There have been some... concerns raised regarding professional conduct within the university," Higurama finally managed to say.

Suguru and Gojo made a face in unison.

You reached into Mr. Higurama's briefcase, pulling out the stack of papers he'd entrusted you with. As you pulled them out, you couldn't help but notice the faint coffee stains marrying the edges. Your cheeks flushed even deeper.

But then your eyes landed on the content of the paper.

It wasn't a complex legal case or a malpractice lawsuit, as you had initially feared. Instead, you were faced with a series of brightly colored pamphlets titled “Maintaining Professional Boundaries”.

The pages were filled with cartoon illustrations and bullet points detailing appropriate conduct with students, patients and colleagues. There were even sections on how to avoid gossip in the workplace, with a handwritten note scrawled in the margin that basically said, "Don’t fuck with students, Gojo" in a slightly more professional way. Higurama's handwriting, for sure.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

The girl Gojo always talked about, the one he was always going on and on about marrying—she was a student. He'd been sleeping with a student this whole time. Oh my god. How inappropriate. You could never imagine hooking up with one of your professors.

But now that you think about it — someone in the glass house shouldn't throw stones, as they say.

Anyway, a wave of secondhand embarrassment washed over you as you placed the papers in front of the doctors. Even Higurama seemed to shrink in his seat. The silence in the room was deafening as Suguru and Gojo scanned the documents. You could practically hear crickets chirping.

Finally, Higurama cleared his throat, attempting to regain control of the situation. “As I was saying,” he began, his voice strained, “we all know why we’re here today.”

All eyes immediately snapped to Gojo. “Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that,” he said. Suguru let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his temples. Then, Gojo's gaze fell upon the stack of papers in front of him. "Besides, why is there coffee on those documents?"

Every head in the room swiveled towards you.

You quickly looked away.

The rest of the meeting was, to put it mildly, awkward as hell. Higurama tried his best to maintain a professional facade as he soldiered on with the presentation, highlighting the importance of maintaining professional boundaries.

You couldn't help but squirm in your seat as he droned on about appropriate conduct and the dangers of crossing the line. With every mention of "patient confidentiality" and "avoiding dual relationships," your mind flashed back to that night at the bar.

Suguru's hands on your waist, his lips on yours. You were sure your face was burning a bright shade of crimson. You risked a glance at Suguru, but he was staring intently at the table, his expression carefully blank.

Gojo tried to lighten the mood with a few well-timed jokes, but you guessed he was uneasy, too. You noticed him scratching his arm from time to time, a nervous tic you'd never seen before. Suguru, on the other hand, remained stoic, his gaze fixed on the presentation materials, though you could sense his discomfort.

You couldn't help but wonder what Suguru was thinking. Was he regretting that night at the bar as much as you were starting to? Did he see you differently now?

Finally, the meeting mercifully ended.

Gojo stood up. "Higurama, can we talk for a second?" Higurama sighed, but reluctantly followed him out of the room, leaving you alone with Suguru.

A tense silence descended upon the room. You avoided Suguru's gaze, focusing instead on the white walls. But you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Did you ice it?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

Silence returned.

It felt like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Unable to bear the stillness any longer, you stood up, clutching your bag tightly. "Well, I should probably get going."

"Wait," Suguru's voice stopped you mid-escape. "About the other night. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken things so far."

You turned back to face him. "No, it's okay. It was... nice." Nice? Did you really just describe the hottest makeout session of your life as 'nice'? What were you, a Victorian maiden?

"Nice?" he echoed, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly attractive way of his.

"I mean... It was good. Really good," you clarified, somehow making it even worse. "You're a great kisser and..." you trailed off, wanting to crawl under the table and die.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, you tried to make another break for it, only to be halted by Suguru's hand wrapping around your wrist. His grip was gentle but firm, sending sparks shooting up your arm.

You spun back around to find him towering over you. Damn him for being so tall. And for looking so good in his dress shirt and vest and tie under that crisp white doctor's coat. It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make you come before we were interrupted," he said, sounding so genuinely apologetic you almost laughed. Almost. If this whole situation wasn't so mortifyingly awkward.

"Oh my god, please don't say that."

"I just want you to know, I don't usually do things like that."

"Like what? Not make women come? Wow, what a gentleman."

"No, I meant—" He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm not really one for hookups in general."

Oh god, why are you having this conversation now, here, with Higurama and Dr. Gojo just outside? "Okay, cool. Thanks for letting me know." You tried once again to subtly tug your wrist from his grip.

But Suguru held fast, his thumb rubbing absently over your racing pulse. "I don't regret it, if that's what you're worried about. I liked it. Spending time with you. A lot.”

You stared at him, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. He likes spending time with you? What did that even mean?

"Uh," you began. "You don't?"

"No, I don't." His grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn't let go. "I was just surprised. It felt... good."

Good? You blinked. Good? What did ‘good’ in this context even mean? But then again, it had felt pretty damn good.

"And you're a great kisser too," he mirrored your words.

"Thanks." Thanks? Did you really just say thanks? And then, because your brain apparently decided to abandon all sense of self-preservation, you blurted out, "And you have great fingers."

Your face erupted in a fiery blush, and you wished you could disappear into the floor. My God, why couldn't you just shut up for once in your life?

Suguru's lips twitched into a smirk. "Thanks," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "We should do it again sometime."

"Yeah, totally." The words tumbled out before you could stop them. You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry as the desert. Play it cool, play it cool. "I think we would be quite good together. At sex, I mean. Wait, no—" You stumbled over your words, your hands flailing helplessly as you tried to backpedal.

"I meant the sports bar," Suguru clarified, barely containing his amusement.

"Oh yeah, me too," you said quickly, too quickly. "The sports bar. Where we... watch sports. And drink beer—"

Then the door creaked open and Higurama stepped back into the room. You both immediately moved apart. Higurama glanced at you. "Are you ready to go back to the office?"

You nodded.

Thank god it was over.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: hello again !! hope you didn't die bc of cringe this chapter, as our dear reader certainly brings a touch of chaotic energy to the story. and i want to express my gratitude for all the wonderful comments and messages you've been leaving. they never fail to brighten my day. & thank you again tasha for helping me out with this chapter. check out her work here. <3

don't have much else to add at this point, so whether you're reading this in the middle of the day or late at night, i wish you all the best. thank you for your continued support and love :)

pls comment on the masterlist for the taglist. or consider subscribing to the story on AO3, if you'd like to stay updated on future chapters.

🏷️ @ri-sa20 @biancaness @roseified @rixo-19 @madaqueue

@starmapz @alwaysfreakingout @totallytatum @shervinss @elliesndg

@lulureblogstuff @mylovelessnightmare @myahfig4 @shesplendl @mua-for-now

@yoghurtbrand @midnightsaugust @nanasukii28 @drakenswifeyy @maeveontherun

@4k0taro @ineednanamikento

#remedies and reasons #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto fanfiction #geto fanfic #geto fanficiton #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jjk #suguru geto x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #geto smut #suguru geto smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 10 days ago

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Waiting for Superman

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~600

Warnings: fluff

Summary: For decades, you’ve been coasting through life thinking you’ll never find “the one” until you take Spencer to a bookstore, and he manages to find something to pass the time.

Square Filled: waiting for superman by daughtry for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

Spencer loves books. He reads nearly twenty of them in a week. However, he is a fan of nonfiction, not fiction like you love. The new bookstore that just opened near your house only had fiction books stocked, nothing that would ever catch Spencer’s eyes. Still, he goes because it’s what you love.

Most people who know Spencer know that he is patient, calculating, thoughtful, and very friendly. That all gets thrown out the window when he comes to the bookstore with you. He’s like an impatient child who only comes along because he has to. He gets bored very easily since his big brain is always running away from him, so it takes a lot to keep him engaged. It’s why he’s so good at his job. His mind is constantly engaged by whatever unsub has made it to the briefing room.

Spencer huffs as he follows you around the bookstore, and you pick a romance book off the shelf.

“You know you didn't have to come with me.”

“I want to hang out with you, even if it means being in here.”

“How romantic,” you roll your eyes playfully.

“Are you almost done? I know of another bookstore that has books we’d both like.”

“Spencer, this one is closer, and we have to meet my parents for lunch. If we went to the other one, we wouldn’t get back until late.” Spencer leans against the bookshelf and is quiet for maybe five seconds. “Okay, how about you go to the cafe and get something to drink, yeah?”

Spencer grumbles but doesn’t answer you. You go back to reading the backs of books, pushing Spencer aside in your mind. He leaves your side to go find something else to do. If this is Spencer’s only flaw, then you consider yourself pretty lucky. You were at the point in your life where you thought you’d be alone forever.

Every date you went on, you weren't connecting to anyone. Either they were too boring, too stinky, too full of themselves, or they had their eyes on other girls. None of them were ever right until you met Spencer. He kept his attention on you every time you two were together, always put your first, and made sure to remember every detail you’d tell him about yourself.

Okay, that last one is his natural ability to remember everything, but he made a conscious decision to do it.

You spent what felt like a lifetime for someone like Spencer, so you’re not going to let him go that easily.

Over the next hour, you read and grab books that are interesting to you until you have a pile in your hands. You had just gotten paid and felt like spending a chunk of your paycheck on books. Knowing there is nothing for Spencer in here, you search for him in the small bookstore. He’s upstairs sitting in a book nook with half a dozen kids sitting around him. Their parents are near just watching Spencer read a book to them.

His eyes are wide, he does funny voices for the characters, and he engages each of the kids in the story he’s reading. You set your books down on a table and lean against it, content with watching him. Each kid is mesmerized and hooked to every word he’s saying, and the parents don’t mind the nice break from their children.

“What about the dragon? Who is going to slay it?” a child asks.

“Princess Annabelle is.” All the children gasp. “I know. Usually, the prince does but I think Princess Annabelle is tired of waiting for someone to do it for her. Let’s see how she does it.”

Spencer flips to the next page and continues to the story. He looks up and locks eyes with you, and you give him a slow-growing smile.

It’s right here and now that you’ve decided this is the man you’re going to marry. You’ve been waiting decades for your Superman to show up, and it’s been in front of your face the whole time.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst

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jezabelle9299 · 1 month ago

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Secret Santa S.R x FEM!reader

Overture- You brought stockings to put on everyone's desk, with a small surprise inside your boyfriends. But of course you can just tell him it was you. That's no fun

CWs-Spencer is NOT athletic

A/N- I simply could not work on homework or finals today. It was snowing outside so my most pressing matter was looking at that for 20 minutes that turned out to actually be well over an hour. If it doesn't make any sense then just pretend it does, ok? This was like 4 different plots before I landed on this-- But if you want to read the other things I'm doing this month you could do that HERE

In order to beat everyone to the office you had to leave before the sun was up, normally making it an impossible task, but today it was worth it. The team was getting almost a week of holiday leave, and you wanted to perform a little surprise. You bought some simple stockings, adding little felt and glitter letters to personalize them. You spent almost an hour last night filling them for each person with candy and little trinkets you thought each of them might like. Of course, you wanted to stay anonymous– hence the early hour.

You ran the file room on their floor, keeping up the digitizing of records, and finding paper files for the agents when needed. Almost no one needed, so you got close with Spencer very quickly. Close turned into a huge crush, which turned into a now 7 month long relationship. That 7 month long relationship led to you now, borrowing a cart from the mailroom to transport all of these stockings to your boyfriend and all of his wonderful colleagues’ desks.

You had a plan– you were going to see just how good of a profiler he really was. There would be no note on them, and you knew his team would never suspect you as the bearer of gifts. They rarely needed something, and when they did Spencer was the first to jump up and grab it for them. They all figured he had a little crush on you, which while true– it was much more than that.

When the team showed up, all around the same time– they immediately noticed the stockings hanging from the side of their desks. They looked around, seeing if anyone was lurking around waiting for their reaction, but you were already tucked away in your small office. You waited, almost expectantly for Spencer to figure out who it was, but as the day went on, he was stumped. Accusations were thrown around among the team, the glitter on some of the stockings leading straight to Penelope, then to JJ, even some people saying it was Spencer. But yet was anyone to suspect you– even Spencer.

It wasn’t until around 4 o’clock, you were getting ready to go home early, and as the team had just about finished all of their paperwork they were saying their goodbyes. Derek put on his Santa hat, and decided to tease Spencer about his ‘little crush’ on you.

“Hey, maybe that filing girl you’re obsessed with made them– she could be your secret admirer.”

Derek laughed, but Spencer didn’t. He knew everything about you by this point– you told him everything about your day, most days. You couldn’t keep a secret even this small– but the idea stuck somewhere in the back of Spencer’s brain.

And there it stayed, until he was packing up for the day. When he was grabbing his stocking off of its little hook, supporting the bottom while he pulled on the top, he felt something on the inside– snug against the fabric. not something that could come from a manufacturer, either. He unpacked the entire thing, right on his desk, and hand sewn into the bottom of the sock was a little pocket. He folded the whole thing inside out so he could open it, finding a folded up post-it note that only said “Come find me when you figure it out” with a little star next to it. He knew then that Morgan was right, that you were his secret admirer— Well secret to everyone else at least.

He quickly packed his belongings, including his new little gift, moving even faster when he saw the time– it was almost 7. He hopped on the train, and bounded up the stairs to your apartment. Once he got to your door he was a certifiable mess– his cardigan was hanging off one of his shoulders, his hands full and he was crouching trying to catch his breath. Adorable.

Just as you were wondering if he’d actually notice the small pocket, a hasty knock on your door caught your attention– it was definitely Spencer.

“Hi Spence, how was work?” You were stifling the giggle threatening to come out. He kept trying to catch his breath, not looking up at you when he held up your small yellow note.

“You found me!” He finally looked up at you when he got back fully standing, still visibly exhausted. You were wearing your little pajamas, and Spencer could hardly think of words to describe you right now.

“You look really pretty.”

“Thank you– are you ok?”

“Yeah, just– I ran here from the train station.” Again you had to stifle a laugh because why on Earth would he run when it was only a 15 minute walk.

“Can I ask why?”

“You were waiting on me– it took me so long to figure it out, I didn’t want to waste another second.”

“You’re so sweet– and you’re just in time. I was about to put on a movie, and I have one more surprise for you.” You opened the door the rest of the way, motioning for him to come inside your apartment. He set his things down, and– finally being able to take a full breath, asked the question that was on his mind the whole train ride– I mean when did you have the time?”

“How did you plan all of this?”

“I have a lot of time at work. Now the last surprise.” You grabbed a pair of pajama pants off your dining room table, matching in print to the ones you had on now.

“Matching?”

“Yeah– but only if you want to wear them, you don’t have to of course, and I promise I won’t be upset– I mean I know I kind of just sprung this whole thing on you and–” Spencer grabbed your face gently with both of his hands and that finally got you to pause to breathe.

“I love them. And– and I love you.” He’d never said that to you, or anyone, before. But it felt right.

“I love you too Spencer.”

“How about you get situated, I have an outfit change to get to.” He held up the pajamas you got him as he gave you one more kiss on the cheek.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you

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fungateshortcakes · 2 months ago

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omg… my brain… it’s too HORNY…

bc i just read ur pegging logan fic and my first thought was “omg how would he feel ab a ribbed/bad dragon dildo” 😵‍💫😵‍💫

u do not have to write anything for this if u don’t wanna i just need someone to hear me out on this 👀 bc i know he’d whimper every time one of the little bumps hits a good spot in him 😫😫 AUGH IM GOING INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE

YEEEEESSS I'VE BEEN SAYING THIS OFC I WILL WRITE SOMETHING

call me insane but I just spent the last hour browsing through the bad dragon website to look for some XL dildos Logan would go for because they are extra textured

So here is a short list of bad dragon toys I found if anyone wants to search up what they look like before we start with the real fun part

Slater the stone wyvern (extra large)

Reggie the mothman (extra large)

Flint the uncut studded dragon (extra large)

Abyss the Kaiju King (extra large)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

So, we can all agree that Logan likes his toys big. Like extra extra large. Of course he started out smaller but with time, he managed to take bigger and bigger toys, larger in length and thicker in girth. It would be a great accomplishment for him if he was able to sink down just a bit further every time he tried out a new and bigger toy.

Doing this was one of his greatest pleasures. After an especially hard mission he was longing to unwind with a fat cock stretching him open. He loves it so much, he is such a slut for monster cock. Sometimes you'd arrive a bit late to your shared bedroom and find Logan on your bed, three fingers plunged into his sopping hole as he eagerly prepped himself. His fingers weren't enough, never enough. They couldn't sooth that ache deep within him, the primal need to be full and stretched and stuffed. He let out a sigh of relief the second a girthy, phat dick would slip right past his tight ring of muscle and settle deep in his tummy until there was a bulge there. He just sobs out in ecstasy and lets himself completely surrender to the pleasure rocking his body with every thrust.

You will know when the bumps hit these sensitive spots inside him because he will arch his back, the curve of his spine perfectly visible as he starts to beg. "Fuck....mhmnn yes, right there. Right there please, keep going"

The schlickschlickschlick sound that could be heard every time his hole gripped the bumps and ridges on the toy tight when it was pulled out made him shiver. The dildo was nicely glistening with fake cum lube, spit and his arousal. Your eyes were trained on where the silicone cock disappeared inside of him and the way his hole fitted over the textured surface.

"You get fucked like this every damn day like the insatable bitch you are until you're gaping. And you're still so tight every time"

Logan loveslovesloves textured dildos so much. Not that he doesn't use the smooth ones at all, it depends in what mood he is in. But most of the time he wants to feel the bumps, ridges, lines and dents against his aching walls and feel every slight texture fucking him open and abusing his sweet spot. You knew exactly which angle you needed to fuck him to hit his arousal swollen prostate with precision.

"Mmm,yeah fuck, milk me dry" he mewls out, his cock throbbing lewdly against the bulge on his tummy, leaking all over the sheets. He gets so cute and whiny like this. He makes sounds no one would think were possible coming from him. His face is flushed and squished against the pillows, tears staining his cheeks, his eyes rolling back. Spit in his mouth please.

He wants you to keep fucking him even after he came multiple times because it's just that good.

When you aren't there to fuck him for whatever reason, he gets so needy. Of course he can ride the toys but that's just not the same as you pounding him from behind and slut shaming him. And his legs gave out pretty fast. So the fucking machine you bought him was the best present ever. When you were gone, he could still get fucked by any monster cock he desired and for as long as he wanted. It still didn't come close to you but it was good enough.

Sometimes you used the fucking machine even though you were here, controlling the speed and roughness of the thrusts to drive him mad.

#logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #x men #hugh jackman #x reader #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #marvel movies #marvel men #drabble #Smut #wolverine smut headcanons #Headcanons #logan howlett #james logan howlett

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moody-alcoholic · 6 months ago

Text

The soldier next door.

I have been struck by the block, so instead of working on my main project I wrote this instead... Fuck it I'm counting it as a freaky Friday even though its 3am on a Saturday.

Masterlist

Part 2

MDNI +18 content

Summary: John Price x reader, reader is female. 3.2k words.

CW: MDNI +18 content Language, alcohol, masturbation, PIV sex, fingering. Honestly this is just blind first draft dribbles so you have been warned.

Enjoy ya filthy animals <3

It felt like it was the hottest day of the year when your fridge decided to stop working. You spent a good 10 minuets prying it out of it’s spot in the kitchen to see if the plug had somehow come loose. When you saw it was still plugged in you turned to the internet, looking up the model number trying to find the instruction manual. You looked for leaking, listened for tapping noises, tried it in a different plug, nothing.

You reluctantly looked online and called for a repair man. He said he would be at least an hour, you could work with that you would have to get new milk but that’s not the end of the world- Shit. The cake! You pulled the door open seeing the smooth cream frosting already starting to crack. No this was bad you wouldn’t have time to make a new one. You pull it out wracking your brain on what to do. Surly your neighbours could help? It was a long shot, it’s the middle of the day on a Tuesday, they’re probably all at work. You play with the idea in your head then decide to try. You need to save this cake. You walk into the hallway trying the door to your right first knocking and ringing the bell. Nothing.

You move to the opposite door doing the same. You wait for a few seconds about to give up and switch floor when the door opens. A man stands here for a second you freeze gawking at him surprised he was even in in the first place. John he had introduced himself to you when you first moved in a year ago, but he’s hardly ever around must work overseas or something. He’s here now though, and he looks way more handsome then you remember.

“Can I help you?” He says pulling you out of your head.

“My fridge, it’s stopped working. I have this cake it’s for my niece's birthday. Do you have room in your fridge to store it? An hour at least I have a repair man on the way.” You say. He pauses for a second then moves to the side.

“Sure, come in.” He says. You follow him through to his kitchen as he opens the fridge moving things around.

“Do you bake for a living?” He asks as he takes it out your hands.

“No it’s a hobby, mainly for family and friends that sort of thing.” You say watching him squeeze it in, next to the microwave meals and the beer. You try not to be nosey moving you eyes elsewhere.

“I didn’t think you would be in, I don’t see you around a lot.” You say as he stand back up closing the door. He’s well built, looks older then you suspect he actually is.

“I work abroad a lot.” He says. “What happened to your fridge anyway?”

“I don’t know it just stopped working.” You explain.

“Have you checked the fuse?” He asks. You look up at him confused shaking your head.

“Mind if I come take a look?” he asks.

“Yeah sure.” You say. He tells you he’ll be back in a second and you wait sheepishly looking round his flat. The place is bigger then yours but it looks like it’s hardly been lived in, guess if you work abroad a lot then you don’t really live in it much. There are a few pictures though, you want to move closer to look but you hear a door close, he walks towards you with a tool box and you head over to your place. He crouches down by the fridge plug and opens the box you stand behind him looking over his shoulder.

“What kind of work is it, like offshore mining?” You ask as he unscrews the plug. He chuckles.

“I’m military.” He says, he looks a bit old to be military, you think. It would be rude to ask his age, now you’re getting a better look at him he doesn't look that old, he could even be late 30’s especially with how fit he is.

“See,” he says taking something out the plug and turning to show you, you take it in your hand you’re not quite sure what it’s supposed to look like but it clearly looks burnt.

“Just a blown fuse, I’ll replace it.” He says his hand going back into the took kit.

“Thank you,” You say putting the thing on the side and picking up your phone. You felt embarrassed, you’d gone to all the fuss of calling a repair man only for your neighbour to fix the problem in less then a minute. You make the awkward call to cancel the repair man, when you come back in the kitchen he’s moving the fridge back in place, his arms stretched out pushing it like it’s nothing. You try not to stare as he turns back to look at you.

“Thank you really, what can I do to make it up to you?” You ask. He smiles going down to pick up his tool box.

“Don’t worry about it it’s just a fuse.” He says.

“Please let me make it up to you.” You say feeling silly about the whole thing, you should have thought about the fuse, you should have checked that first. He sighs walking to the door.

“Okay, I have a work event coming up make me a cake and we’re even.” He says.

“Yes I can do that no problem.” You nod enthusiastically. He smiles as he leaves your flat.

“Okay, it’s next Wednesday, is that enough time?” He asks.

“Yeah plenty of time.” You smile back at him.

“Great I’ll come pick it up Wednesday afternoon.” He nods, looking at you like he is waiting for something as you stand in the doorway.

“Yeah, the cake sorry.” You say suddenly remembering the reason for all this in the first place. You try to hide your blushing as go back in his flat to pick it up.

——————————

When Wednesday comes around you’re a bundle of nerves. John didn’t tell you anything about what kind of cake he wanted, and you had been too nervous to ask. So you deiced to bake a classic Victoria sponge with some homemade raspberry jam your mother had given you. You can’t go wrong with that it’s a classic! You think to yourself. What if he thinks it’s too basic? Maybe you should have done a chocolate cake or something, red velvet always impresses people. You try not to work yourself up about it as you sprinkle powdered sugar on the top, leaving it to cool on the side. Fifteen minutes later there is a knock at the door. You go to open it. John is dressed up in military formals, you’ve only ever seen people dressed up like him on TV for royal events or the remembrance parades. He looks amazing, there’s a buzz running through your body as you step aside to let him in.

“You look good.” You say walking to the kitchen and looking through the cupboard for your cake tin.

“Thank you,” he says moving over to look at the cake.

“It looks delicious,” he says.

“You don’t think it’s too boring? You’re dressed up so fancy.” You say as you gently put the cake in the tin.

“Victoria sponge is a classic everyone will love it.” He says as you turn to hand him the tin.

“Bring the tin back whenever.” You say as he heads for the door.

“I will.”

“Have fun at your event.” You say as he steps into the lift, he nods smiling at you.

You’re out on the balcony sipping a glass of wine when you hear the door to the next apartment opening. You look over pulling your eyes away from the social media binge you had been on. It’s John, you feel nerves come back, you look away trying to ignore him feeling like you’re invading his privacy. The sound of a lighter has you spinning your head back to see, he’s smoking a cigar. So that’s where that smell comes from, you thought it was the neighbours above you. He turns his head and spots you looking you quickly turn away looking back at your phone.

“Hey,” he calls.

“Hey,” you reply looking back at him. He’s being lit up from the light from inside his flat. His features look so defined, his arm muscles look bigger, his freshly groomed beard casts a shadow across his face making him look older. When he puffs on his cigar it lights up his face and his eyes feel like they’re burning into you. It awakens a feeling in you, a feeling you haven’t felt in a while, maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the yearning for human contact but right now you want to fuck your neighbour.

“They loved the cake by the way.” He says.

“Good, what did you think?” You ask.

“Lovely, I can bring the tin over if you want?” He says. Yes please bring the tin over and fuck me.

“It’s okay, bring it back whenever.” You reply. He nods.

“How was the event?” You ask.

“Boring, they always are.” You watch as he takes another puff of the cigar taping the ash on the floor.

“You’re up late.” He says.

“It’s not that late.” You say looking down at your phone. Shit. It was almost midnight, guess the social media rabbit hole had gone on for longer then then you thought.

“I guess I lost track of time.” You reply. You watch as he extinguishes the butt of the cigar on the wall.

“Don’t stay out too long it’s going to rain soon.” He says opening the door to head back in.

“Yeah I won’t.” You reply. He smiles looking back at you one last time then heads inside. You pick your phone back up not even paying attention to what you were looking at. You finish your wine too flustered to focus on anything and head inside. You take a long hot shower trying to wash away the thoughts coming into your mind, the thoughts of John, of riding him till he fills you up, his face between your legs as you cum on his mouth. It doesn’t work, if anything it’s made you more desperate. You dig through your drawers for your barely used pink vibrator eagerly jumping into bed. That night you fuck yourself, coming over and over until your fingers cramp, each time moaning his name. You were well and truly screwed.

——————————

The next day early afternoon there was a knock at the door. You were in a world of your own replying to some work e-mails. You get up to answer it and it’s John with the cake tin. You blush almost imminently thinking back to last night, his name leaving your mouth as you came on your fingers.

“I washed it for you I didn’t know if I should or not.” He says, you take it out his hands.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You reply your mouth suddenly dry.

“You okay?” He asks. No.

“Yeah, it’s hot.” You say. He smiles, that tingle comes back between your legs.

“Yeah the weather is nice for once.” He says.

“If you need another cake, let me know, or I can do cupcakes too.” You say.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckles.

“Tea?” You ask, the tingle being replaced with nerves, he looks down at his watch.

“Yeah, sure thank you.” He says you move aside to let him in and he makes his way over to the kitchen. You pass him checking the kettle and filling it up.

“How do you take it?” You ask.

“Milk and a little sugar.” He replies, you can feel his eyes on you as he stands behind you, the hairs sticking up on the back of your neck. You put the teabags in the cup as you hear him take another step towards you, he’s stood next to you his hand finds the small of your back.

“Need a hand?” he asks, his voice sounds lower all of a sudden deeper.

“I think I got it.” You say looking up at him his face centimetres away from yours. You look into his eyes, he has nice eyes, blue they look almost translucent in the light. His hand pulls you closer to him your body turning towards him.

“Every time I come home I get reminded how beautiful you are.” He says. For a second you think you’re imaging it, maybe you’re dreaming, did you hit your head this morning? You’re stood just looking at him your mouth hanging open as you stare up at him. He kisses you his tongue working it’s way into your mouth stroking yours. You press your face into him as his hands grip your waist. His beard is tickling your face but you don’t care, he’s gentle not what you were expecting, although you didn’t know what you were expecting.

You hear the kettle click and you’re about to break from the kiss but his hands slip under your armpits and he pulls you up to sit on the counter. You gasp as your lips leave his. You lean back your head hitting the cupboards as he pushes his hands up your top. You raise your arms and pull it over your head as his lips kiss your stomach. You reach back un-cliping your bra throwing it in the sink. He stops kissing your stomach his hands working their way up to your breasts. He cups them one in each hand giving them a squeeze.

“Perfect, everything about you is so bloody perfect.” He says before locking his lips round one of your nipples. You moan your hand gripping his hair as his tongue flicks your nipple. Your other hand moving to your free breast massaging it. John looks up at you his eyes glistening as he kisses you again.

“Want to move to the bedroom?” You ask him between breaths. He nods, you’re about to move your body to jump off the counter but he scoops his arms round your back pulling you onto him. You lock your legs round his waist, and your arms round his neck so you don’t fall and lead him to the bedroom. He puts you down on the bed taking his shirt off before laying next to you, he’s hairy, of course he is, well built too, defined muscles, you’re looking at him up and down your eyes moving back to his face. His hand traces your breasts down your stomach your waistband, he’s almost too gentle, his touch making you crave his hands all over you at once.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this.” He says going back to kiss you before you can reply. It’s a deep kiss, a needy kiss, sloppy and hot your tongues in each others mouths. He breaks away first looking down your body. You grab the waist of your shorts and underwear pulling them down, now you’re being needy, desperate for his touch. He smiles moving to help you pull them off and throw them on the floor. He stands up at the foot of your bed undoing his belt, you can tell by the bulge in his pants he’s already hard, you’re almost licking your lips in anticipation as he pulls them down standing back up and throwing them to the side. Christ he’s big, you try not to stare which only makes him chuckle and heat rushes to your cheeks. He bends down picking his jeans back up pulling a condom out the back pocket.

“You always walk about with a condom on you?” You ask.

“Only when you’re around.” He winks, you blush again smiling, you can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. You spread your legs as he rolls the condom down his uncut length, you try to keep your mouth closed as he steps towards you. He bends over you his dogtags hit your chest, as he kisses you again your hand wraps round the back of his neck and you run your fingers up his hair. His free hand makes it’s way up your thigh till it reaches your cunt. His fingers part your folds, he’s gentle making sure to touch everything, explore each part of you feeling your reaction. When his fingers push into you, you break away from the kiss gasping. He chuckles his mouth moving to kiss your neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out. You’re so wet, feeling your self dripping all the way down to your ass. When he starts hitting your g-spot you moan, his mouth leaving your neck to watch you squirm.

He pulls his fingers out rubbing the juices round your swollen clit making you twitch. He hums and you look up at him smiling. He pulls you down the bed a bit lining himself up with your entrance. You feel him push inside you and you moan with him, he’s big, stretching you out, you let out a breath as you take him all the way. You prop yourself up on your elbows looking up at him as he slowly thrusts in and out of you like he’s trying to test your limit. His free hand makes it’s way to your stomach pressing you down as you arch your back, you fall back on the bed as his thumb starts rubbing your clit. The new sensation makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Holy shit,” you breathe as he speeds up his rubbing matching his thrusts. You want to move your hands to your breasts but you feel too good just lying there and taking it, moaning his name telling him how good he feels, he replies with a chuckle increasing the pressure on your clit making your body squirm.

“Like that huh?” He says in a low commanding voice.

“Yes- please don’t stop.” You pant as you get closer to the edge. Your legs start shaking as his free hand grips your waist, almost pulling you down on him harder.

“John-” his name leaves your lips as you clench round him.

“Yeah, come for me baby.” His words are like music to your ears you’re not really even paying attention just hearing him grunt and moan as he presses inside you, telling you how good you’re taking him, you cum arching your back, calling his name. He cums too you can feel each pulse of his cock burred deep inside you as he slows down bending over you his dogtags falling back on your chest as he pants his hands gripping the bedding.

You look up at him his eyes closed mouth open, after a second he opens his eyes looking at you. You smile at him and he leans down kissing you, a long deep kiss with his gentle tongue. When he pulls away he stands up brushing his hand over your clit making you shudder. You feel a sudden emptiness in you belly as he flops onto the bed next to you. You reach over laying up against him your arm spread over his chest.

“Your cake was really amazing.” He says turning his head to meet your eyes. You nod.

“Better then sex?” You ask a cheeky smile on your face. He chuckles kissing your nose.

“No, not better then sex, but pretty bloody close.” You smile reaching over kissing him.

#cod #call of duty #fanfic #john price #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #captain price #captain john price #john price cod #price x reader #price x you #price smut #captain johnathan price #price cod #john price x you #john price x reader #john price smut

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kingkaizen · 3 months ago

Note

bestie, bestie, bestie.

I did see that your requests are open and hence I am dropping my silly thoughts (also hope that this is alrightie): gojo seeing you in a bikini for the first time on an holiday (bonus if it's light blue).

thank you in advance and have a lovely day!

∘ a/n: hiii bestie <3 i am MONTHS late on this but i hope you still enjoy!

∘ ft: gojo

∘ includes: nothing crazy, all cute <3

The angelic sunset shines through your villa window as night begins to creep. You’ve only officially been on vacation for two days, but it’s really felt like mere hours. After begging Gojo to take a break from his responsibilities and relax for months on end, he finally obliged. However, ever since getting here, he’s pretty much gone ghost.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him at all, it’s just that he hasn’t been very present with you. Yeah, he took you shopping for some new clothes but was taking work phone calls the entire time. Sure, you went out for a fancy dinner, but he rushed to get back as soon as possible to submit a report. Although this has been bothering you, it’s easy to understand. He goes through so much, and you know how stressed this all makes him at times, even when he tries his best not to let it show.

Good thing you know just the way to keep his attention.

Throughout your day, you made it your mission to do something extra special for Gojo. Although you were the one who begged for this vacation, you do realize that it’s not that easy for him to de-stress like you. So, you spent the day gathering some of his favorite treats to enjoy on the beach. Leaving him a note on your bed, you expected him to meet you down at the shore any second.

One thing that he won’t be expecting is your new outfit. A stunning light blue bikini, hugging everything just right and looks as though it was made perfectly for you. The best feeling is when you feel beautiful in something, the confidence oozing from you and into the atmosphere.

You finish placing everything down, a blanket big enough for the both of you to relax on along with a basket full of all of his favorite sweets. You take a moment to relish in the world around you, noting how the calm waves brush against the rocks on the shore, light wind tickling your nose. Before you realize, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps squishing into the sand.

“Aw baby, is this what you meant by something “sweet” in your message?” Gojo’s huge smile covers his entire face, flashing his perfect teeth at you. He takes your hands in his, holding one above your head and motioning you to spin around for him. “You’re so stunning, especially in blue.” He says as he pulls you in for a kiss. You could feel yourself melting into his body, the warmth coming from him completely beginning to fog up your brain.

“I actually got you some mochi..” You begin to trail off as he pulls you in once again, interrupting you mid sentence, littering your face with kiss after kiss. “Satoru enough!”, you’re laughing now, giggles erupting from your lips.

“Thank you gorgeous, for everything.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x reader fluff #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader

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kaeddehara · 2 years ago

Text

DIRTY PICTURES AT WORK — NSFW

[ tighnari + cyno + al haitham ]

♱ warnings — cursing + mild nsfw + bondage

♱ notes — minus kaveh :(( ; lowkey rushed because school is kicking my ass right now

| TIGHNARI |

tighnari is almost even on his phone even after working hours. he doesn’t see a need for it but nevertheless still keeps it on him. sometimes he’ll receive messages or emails and chooses to ignore them when he doesn’t even know who they’re from yet. but there are occasions when he does have a break and he’ll look to see if anything is urgent or needs his attention. but when he sees messages from you or specifically pictures, he can’t help but wonder what that could mean. he hastily opens up your messages only a reveal a couple pictures of you on his bed only covered with some very thin fabric he could only assume was a new set of lingerie you’d gotten to wear.

“i know you don’t check your phone much at work so we can have an even better time when you get home <3”

he’s more than happy he’s alone not only so he wouldn’t get caught, but also to cover the obvious blush lining his face. his long, pointed ears are probably flushed at the point too. his eyes scan the images you sent again and he can’t ignore the way his cock is hardening at the sight of your pretty body. he made sure to send you a message quickly complimenting you, already so anxious for your response. he made sure to save those pictures to his phone so he could go get rid of the problem you gave him in the restroom. trying to hard to keep his embarrassing, pathetic sounds to himself while stroking his pretty cock to the sight of you. all the while, he’s mumbling to himself about how he’s gonna treat you when he gets home <3.

| CYNO |

cyno actually doesn’t even use his phone. he won’t look at it unless you or someone else tells him to. chances are, he can’t even work it that well because of how often he’s not on it. so you when decide to send him some pictures of your cute tits only being cupped by a thin piece of fabric with a sweet message about how you miss him, he has no idea about it until you mention it. you’re all excited when he gets home and ask cyno how his day was and all those little questions you always do. it’s only until you ask if he saw the pictures you sent earlier that he gets confused and shakes his head no. you huff in annoyance but the second he goes to check right in front of you, you can’t help but smile at the shock on his face. he scans those pictures and message so hard you’d think he brain had stopped working for a minute or something. it isn’t too long before he throws his phone to the side and pushed you down against the nearest piece of furniture to have his way with you. making sure to cup your pretty tits while humming apologies and also some questions about why you’d send him that during work unless you’re just asking for it.

“you can’t even wait till i’m home is that it? you want me to get hard at work just so i can punish you?”

and you want nothing more than to being just a smile in that moment with cyno pressing his lips right against yours to keep you from responding so he can have you right now and make up for what he missed.

| AL-HAITHAM |

al haitham is always pretty tedious about how he goes about most things. work or just mundane acts he always does with precision and focus. when he does have some downtime however, most of it is actually spent messaging you or responding to emails that he may have gotten while on the job. hes very good about keeping his business personal and too himself and that makes no difference when you send him certain messages. at first, al haitham doesn’t know how to react whatsoever. he’s practically in awe of the dirty messages you sent along with those pictures of you freshly out of the shower in whatever sort of sensual position you want him to see you in.

“keep working hard and you’ll have a reward when you get home <3”

he deeply exhaled and tried to cover the blushing mess that was his face. it wasn’t long before his break was soon over and he had to get back to work. all the while, his mind would not stop thinking and imagining all the things he would do to you when he got home. maybe some punishment was due just because you thought sending him pictures like that when you knew he was working. he decided to respond to your message as to not leave you hanging, waiting for his answer.

“you’d look better with some rope wrapped around those wrists and thighs”

he knew he sounded so serious but also considered how much you enjoyed his serious tone he’d use when he meant something.

“why not show me when you get home kay?”

he had to turn his phone over at all the perverted thoughts filling his mind every second. all because you wanted to send him those pictures in the middle of his working ours WHILE there were others around. you were in for such a harsh punishment when he got home.

#kaeddehara #genshin smut #tighnari smut #cyno smut #al haitham smut #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #al haitham x reader #tighnari genshin #genshin cyno #al haitham genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #rumi writing ^•ﻌ•^ฅ #rumi thoughts ฅ/ᐠ. ̫ .ᐟ\ฅ #☕️#🗡️

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cyberghouleo · 1 year ago

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bodyguard! simon riley x celebrity! reader

To the displeasure of everyone I know, I got cod brain rot.

Inspired by: Celebrity by Slayyyter

When your manager suggested you hire a new bodyguard after your old one quit, you were not expecting a masked man with an accent to walk through your doors.

At first, he sees you as a spoiled brat. He’s not used to being a bodyguard for someone famous, he is used to being hired as a hitman in more dangerous situations. He only accepted this job as the pay was good and his last job was nearby, but now he feels as if he's being toted around like a puppy, trailing behind you as you go along your normal day to day life.

Everything was a culture shift to him, he wasn’t used to following his clients while they shop or getting asked if you should purchase something, to which he always responded with “if that’s what you like.” He’s not used to sitting at lunch at a nearby table as your friends drill you with questions about him, questions about the mask and why he looked so differently than your previous guards. He was used to being in stressful situations, spending hours researching his client's attacker while being on alert 24/7, now he was just following you around with no immediate threats happening to you.

While you're doing interviews or getting your makeup done before a photoshoot, he is sitting across from you in a chair with his arms crossed. He keeps his balaclava on and hardly speaks unless someone tries to deny him access behind the scenes with you. He speaks before you can, “I’m ‘er guard.” he grunts out as he keeps walking past them, following behind you.

Trying to get to know him felt like pulling teeth, he’s standoffish and when he does answer questions, it's always short answers, even refusing to tell you his real name after you asked. You knew almost nothing about him, but that all changed once you’re alerted that your P.O box is being sent threatening letters, claiming to have a hit out on you. Ghost instructs that you are both to not leave the house until he can gather enough info about your threatener, leaving the two of you alone for several weeks.

These weeks alone cause him to slowly start opening up to you as the two of you have nothing else to do or talk about. You learn about his past clients, how this is his first high status bodyguard job, and his time in the military. He tells you bits at a time, not willing to spill too much at one time, almost testing to see how you respond to each bit of new information you learn about him. During dinner one night, he randomly speaks up. “Simon.”

“What?”

“My name. Simon.”

It only takes a few weeks for him to track and find the person sending you the threats, and he reassures you that everything will be fine now. He doesn’t show any proof, but you trust him enough to believe him. The weeks you spent together did lead to some tension between the two of you, you are able to see a human side of him that you weren’t expecting, and you could feel yourself getting intrigued by what else you could learn about him. You scolded yourself for thinking this way towards a bodyguard, someone trying to do his job, but you also couldn’t deny the way you were starting to feel when you caught glimpses of his arms flexing underneath the tight black shirts he wore often.

He slowly starts warming up to you and seeing you in a different light once he spends a few months inside your house. You aren’t as bratty or snobby as he expected. He tries to brush away any lingering thoughts as you ask him to help you zip up your dress, noticing how small your shoulders look under his gaze. Or when you ask him to help you put on a necklace, comparing how small your hands are to his when you hand him the necklace.

The tension finally breaks when you are in a dressing room alone, waiting around as the photographer goes over the photos one final time before you could leave. You can feel him eyeing you up and down while you aren’t paying attention, his eyes studying the dress you were getting paid to wear and the way it hugged you. One offhand comment from you leads to him lifting you up onto the vanity counter, his mask pulled above his nose as his mouth finds yours, soft moans escaping you. Your panties are pulled to the side as his tongue circles around your clit, one hand pressed against your mouth to quiet you, so the staff doesn’t hear you cumming against his tongue.

When in large crowds, one of his hands is always pressed against the small of your back as he guides you through the masses, the feeling of his touch lingering on your back even after he pulls away. His other hand resting close to the concealed gun he keeps at his hip, staying alert as his eyes scan through the faces to assess any threats. Crowds will naturally part once they notice how big he is and the way he towers over most of the fans.

The paparazzi gets a photo of you two together, Simon holding a few shopping bags as he trails behind you. The photo is captioned as if he was your secret boyfriend and your fans go crazy, tweeting how cute the two of you are together and how mysterious he was.

“Look, everyone thinks we are dating.” You say as you shove your phone in his face. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the photo, reading a comment on how good of a couple the two of you are. He only hums a response and rolls his eyes. He expects you to have a different reaction, shocked that you didn’t find it annoying but almost enduring. The idea of you being okay with the two of you being in a relationship and not just fuckbuddies ignites something deep in his stomach.

You definitely talk him into taking a few photos of you for Instagram, instructing him on how to frame the photo as he stares blankly at the phone. When you post the photos, comments flood in asking if your mystery bodyguard was the one who took them. You often post stories with him lingering around in the background, only fueling the relationship speculation as fans talk about him living with you.

After the media starts to report more on the two of you, Ghost starts getting more offers from other celebrities to become their bodyguard. He gives them no second thought as he denies them. He will get approached with offers to pay him triple and he still waves them off, he plans on staying loyal as a bodyguard to you and you only, no matter how much they offer him.

Simon decides to make the two of you official by gifting you a necklace with his initial, something you wear and post about often, sending your fans into a bigger spiral. He finds the fans both amusing and slightly disturbing, showing how much love they have for you, yet you only get to call him yours.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #cod mw3 #bodyguard au #famous reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #smut #kinda? idk lol #got my wisdom teeth out yesterday so i got to speedrun this lmfao #ill post proxy things soon just let me live in my masked man fantasy rn

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adventuringblind · 10 months ago

Text

Monsters in my Mind

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Sometimes those thoughts won't leave, the ones you don't want... The ones that can be dangerous. All it takes is one person to help make them go away.

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, referenced/implied self-harm, violent thoughts, impulsive behaviors, panic attacks, non-sexual dominance as a form of coping, dom/sub undertones

Notes: My thoughts are self stabby as of late. Pardon me as I write this for myself to keep my head and hands busy.

Side Note: Consider feeding my praise kink maybe...?

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The head is a strange place. One's conscious is usually meant to help them make the right decisions and not engage in acts that could hurt them or others. Her head, however, is the opposite of that.

It's a dark twisted place where thoughts that aren't her own find refuge. They want to bathe her in the ecstasy of things that shouldn't feel good. daydreams about things that could repulse any typical human being.

Sometimes they are so strong and her bodies reactions are so out of control, that she has to find relief somewhere. The knife against her skin takes the edge off. Is it normal to moan at the sting and feel satisfied looking at her red stained thighs? She does, until the realization settles in and the guilt won't let her think.

The thoughts laugh at her for giving in so easily. They scrutinize the fact she gets off on the pain.

She walks around in fear of herself. The anxiety and exhaustion from constantly fighting herself are visible on her body. She's tired, and everyone knows it. It's why they don't come near her. Always to caught up in her own head to realize people are trying converse.

It's not like her job requires to much discussion with people. Puzzles keep her brain busy and Ferrari keeps her busy with all the strategy mishaps they throw at her. They throw her a problem, she solves it, plans for next time, and they fuck it up again by not using the solution.

Sometimes she thinks about throwing herself in front of an F1 car going full speed. That voice in her head screams at her anytime she's close to the live track.

Then there is Max. His voice sends the thoughts running and it makes her want to cling to him. She wants him to never stop talking about anything and everything.

Today had been particularly difficult with the of the driver switch coming at the end of the season. Carlos and Charles are the first drivers she's worked with and they all got along great. She doesn't want it to change. That means more unknowns.

The wind graces her cheeks and kisses her finger tips as she sits on the balcony of their apartment. Everything is to much right now and her thoughts won't quiet.

She was in Maranello when the news came out. Her head became so loud with the fear of change and worry for her friend. Enough to be sent home for the day - alone, and nothing to help her head aside from the burning desire to just end it all.

Max had made arraignments for her to spend some time with him in the Milton-Keynes. She was still alone for periods of time. Enough to have to settle herself somehow.

The color red makes something in her relax. Specifically when it's flowing out of her own body.

Now Max is with her and she's stuck in her own head. The never ending maze of twisted thoughts keeps her from moving. The fear of giving in has been looming over her head for longer then normal. It feels like she's losing something, always has been with this team, but change feels far worse then staying with them.

Max hasn't pushed her to do much aside from at least stay in his presence. Occasionally attempting to get her out of her own head with movies and games. He's even spent hours at a time just talking to her about anything and everything.

He opens the door to the balcony, but she doesn't look at him. Not until he holds his hand out for her to take. An action she does without hesitation. No thoughts are needed for this, just following Max's lead.

He leads her over to the couch and arranges them so she can sit tucked into his lap. A grounding hand runs up and down the lenght of her spine. "I've been doing some research about how we might be able to get your head to quiet down."

"I'll do anything, jus' want it to stop." Her voice sounds dry and cracked from how hard she's screamed and cried through the last few days.

"Do you trust me?"

"More then I trust anyone."

She finds herself slipping off the couch and onto her knees, in-between Max's legs with her head resting against his thigh. His touch doesn't leave her skin. "You're doing so good for me. Listen to my voice and focus on taking big breathes for me. Can you do that for me?"

She hums in response. The continual stroke of Max's fingers against her face and sound of his voice already helping immensely.

"That's it, just breathe for me. I've got you; you don't have to fight the thoughts alone. I'm right here with you, keeping them away, never leaving your side." Max grabs one of her hands with his free one. her fingers lay between his. Her favorite puzzle with how easy the pieces fit together.

"You're here with me; I've got you. Those scary thoughts aren't your own. The are unwanted and uninvited, but most importantly, they don't define you. You are brave, loved, beautiful without gaping wounds. You're not crazy or psychotic. You are yourself, with your highs and your lows."

Her body has never felt like this. Her entire being wants to give itself over to Max. His breathes guiding her own, his gentle yet firm hold on her keeping her where he wants.

She lets herself fall under his spell. If Max can take the control away from her, make her complaint and relaxed like this, then he can have her thoughts too.

"That's it, such a good girl, let me think for you. I won't leave you to fight or flounder on your own."

She follows Max's directions, lets him guide her in this place of trust and letting go of things. He's turning her brain off and letting her float without any kind of worries except what Max is telling her to do.

Until all she can think of is him. The calm the comes with his presence and the way his voice falls over her like a soft blanket. Max is all she knows, occupying every crevice of her mind and leaving no room for anything else to creep in.

"How're you feeling, geliefd?" There is a lightness to his tone that makes her swoon.

She hums against his leg. "Warm, fuzzy, head empty."

"Then you stay here as long as you need, okay? I'll keep you safe."

And she does.

She falls into the warm embrace of Max's words. She lets him protect her and keep the dark ugly thoughts away.

With Max, her head is quiet. The voices can't come though. When they do, he's there to fight them back.

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dadvans · 7 months ago

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Pls tell us more about pregnant Buck and baby daddy Tommy 🙏🏼

Oh, GLADLY. I spent my entire commute home thinking about this after I got this ask.

Okay, here’s everything you must know about Buckley-Kinard Baby Begins:

Buck is shitscared fucking terrified to tell Tommy when he finds out he’s pregnant, because while he knows that there are men out there who can get pregnant, Buck didn’t think or know he was one of those men. And they’ve been dating for six months, and at the four month mark they had their first ever fight, because Buck decided to say “I Love You” for the first time in the same conversation where he was asking Tommy if they could stop using condoms. They haven’t even talked about kids. Tommy, Buck reflects hysterically, is gonna think Buck is babytrapping him.

He lets himself into Tommy’s place after the doctor’s appointment. Tommy is in bed, napping off a shift, and he’s big and warm like the best desert rock that Buck’s lizard brain wants to curl up on. He crawls into bed with Tommy in a way that feels so final, because when Tommy wakes up for good and Buck lays out the news that there is a baby—and more importantly, that the second Buck found out that there was a baby he knew he wanted to keep it—he’s probably gonna ask Buck for his spare key back, block his number, and ready himself for eighteen years of child support payments.

Tommy shifts, mostly still asleep, eyes impossibly closed under the sun seeping between his bedroom window slats. He’s known Buck’s been feeling like shit the past few weeks, and would have offered to take Buck to his appointment if it weren’t for aforementioned shift. “Howwuz doctor’s?”

“Fine,” Buck says. “Tell you more when you get up.”

Which is Tommy’s cue to pass the fuck back out, which he does.

And Buck watches him sleep, and the most horrible part is that he has this fledgling hope that he’ll tell Tommy about the baby and Tommy won’t think he’s a crazy babytrapping monster and won’t kick him out and will say, you know what, yeah, let’s do this.

Buck knows what it’s like to be crushed and this hope is crushing him. He can’t fall asleep under its weight. Maybe another hour passes before Tommy wakes up, but it feels like a lifetime buried under this tiny hope.

So, he’s a fucking mess when Tommy does wake up, when Tommy says, “So, did they figure out what’s going on?” and all Buck can say is, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” He’s pregnant, he didn’t know, he didn’t think, he would’ve been smarter, he wouldn’t have asked, he’s so sorry, and he wants to have this kid, he doesn’t expect anything from Tommy, he’s sorry.

Miracle of miracles Tommy just holds him through it.

The thing is, Tommy knows he’s not a natural with kids like Buck is. It’s not that he particularly wants or doesn’t want them, but until recently he’d kind of resigned to it not being an option, never willing to tie himself to someone else like that when he was so deep in the closet, and now in his mid-forties with no real biological clock ticking it hasn't been a priority. No, he and Buck haven’t talked about kids, but he knows Buck doesn’t have a malicious or insidious bone in his body, and being with Buck has made him realize there’s this well of love inside him that goes far deeper than he’s ever known it to.

And maybe it won’t work out, Tommy is the first to admit. Maybe it is too soon for them to think this is something their relationship can survive so early in, but it’s not something he’s ready to say no to either. So maybe they carry the burden of hope together, for this life they’re making together, and they give it their best shot.

(The sex they have after this conversation is so off-the-wall bonkers crazy intense that if Buck weren’t already pregnant, well.)

Later, when Buck’s had time to process that Tommy’s not going to leave him over this, that they’re going to try and make this work, that Tommy wants to make this work as bad as he does, does Buck address the second problem that’s bothering him: Buck wants to keep working as long as he can. He can’t be side-lined again. He tells Tommy much more about the lawsuit than Tommy previously knew, the parts that Buck is embarrassed about still years later. How he can’t go back to that, or won’t, how even though they’ve finally ousted Gerrard and Bobby’s back at the helm of the 118, he’s afraid that Bobby won’t trust him and that no matter how much has changed, he’s still replaceable to the people he considers family (not healthy, Tommy doesn’t say, but he gets it).

So, Tommy’s like: let’s take a week. Let’s look into this. He’s known pregnant people in the field before, there are proper channels to consider and protections to be made before Buck has his second pregnancy-related breakdown. They support each other through the next step, and it feels auspicious and good for this whole thing working out.

Telling Bobby for real still doesn’t come as well as Buck would like it to. He babbles. He starts out by mentioning he’s done his research, and there are lawsuits (he’d like to avoid) and more recent case studies on all these accommodations that say barring complications he’d be suited to some duty through his second trimester, and—

“Wait, you’re pregnant?” Bobby asks.

Buck stammers out, “Uh yeah. It’s not—we didn’t know I was even a carrier, so it’s a surprise. That said, it’s still, you know, we know it’s early—it’s really, really early, but Tommy and I talked about it. And we want it, you know, even if he and I don’t work out at the end of the day. It’s not unwanted.”

(And there’s something to be said there about both Buck and Tommy, two men who grew up feeling unwanted suddenly bringing a new life into the world, and knowing above all else that no matter how things work out between them, they’re going to make this kid know how wanted it is.)

“Congratulations, Buck, that’s amazing,” Bobby says. Smiling in a way that Buck knows he means it, in a way that makes Buck think, is he proud of me? I think he’s proud of me. In a way that he knows that despite all his fears and their past history, Bobby trusts him on this one, will work with him, will provide the support he needs now that he knows how to ask for it.

Buck gets to go to Tommy's (home) after his shift, and when Tommy asks, Buck says, "Bobby's having me refitted for PPE in a few weeks, we're all good to go" (all three of us)

#bucktommy #headcanons #mpreg #dadvans replies #911 abc

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twig-tea · 5 months ago

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Why We Are Gives Me Anxiety

I have been fighting myself on this We Are post for weeks because I wanted to make sure I knew what I wanted to say and was able to say it. I feel the need to say off the top that I don’t begrudge anyone who enjoyed this show and I’m genuinely glad it brought comfort to people. The show in and of itself, as 16 hour-long episodes of fluff (shout-out to @stuffnonsenseandotherthings for using this word to pinpoint the genre for this show, because it’s perfect), is not offensive or bad or wrong or any judgmental or moralistic word. And it does some things well; the centrality of the friend group was a lovely aspect to this show, and the chemistry in the friendship group scenes was on point. All of the couples have good romantic chemistry as well, and the show is packed with butterflies-inducing moments.

That being said, I did not enjoy watching this show. I watch television mostly for the story; This show felt more like watching 16 special episodes for a show I hadn’t seen (I think this can be attributed to the point made by @italianpersonwithashippersheart in her post here that the show assumes the audience comes to the show with a pre-existing buy-in to the ships). The lack of overarching narrative structure of We Are gave my brain nothing to hold onto and I spent so much of every episode futilely trying to figure out how scenes worked with what had come before, what the show was trying to say, what these characters were thinking–all of which I knew was the wrong way to be watching, but it’s the way my brain works, so I spent a lot of the show frustrated. In short, this show wasn’t for me.

But that’s not why I feel the need to write about it. Shows are fully allowed to not be for me, I usually can differentiate between when a show is doing something I don’t like well, or when it’s failing at its own goals. And I don’t begrudge people with different taste getting catered to sometimes; my refrain is that most problems of representation are not solved by calling for less of something, and rather than wanting something not to be made, I’d rather champion for more and a greater variety of content. And lord knows there’s enough BL to go around these days (shouting out @respectthepetty’s post along these lines, which I loved) . But We Are still worries me, and I’ve been trying to find a way to articulate that my concerns are not actually about the show itself, in isolation, but rather about how it feels like part of a pattern. This is my best attempt at laying that out. It’s going to get a little ramble-y, so apologies in advance.

Shout-out to @bengiyo who first articulated this anxiety in his post from relatively early in the show’s run . Ben gets into some of where I’m coming from with concerns about what this show means for the genre in this post, which as he mentions we've chatted about in DMs. I’m really grateful to him for these conversations because in isolation, I worried that I was being alarmist. It was helpful to have confirmation that he was feeling the same way so that I could get out of my own head.

Ben mentions in his post that New Siwaj has been in this business a long time, and I, like Ben, have jived with him for years because he manages to imbue queer angst into his shows in a way that resonates with me, even when he’s had missteps. I'm going to lay out some of the major highlights of his work for those who haven't followed New for years.

He was an editor on Love Sick, arguably the start of the Thai BL genre as we know it today, and a show full to the brim of queer angst. He directed Make It Right, one of my favourite Thai BL comedy series. This show was also an ensemble centered around a friendship group (though admittedly it didn’t balance the friendship and romance content as strongly as We Are), and it covers so many topics that felt refreshing at the time and still are rare (morning-after sex visits to the clinic because things went poorly, hooking up on the apps, sex acts beyond just penetration, suicidality, I could go on). He also was involved in the GMMTV Waterboyy series–this was his first work for GMMTV that I am aware of. That show had a lot of issues but did explore internalized homophobia and bullying.

He worked as a cinematographer on En of Love, which is again similar to We Are in that it has several couples connected by a friendship group (and is several novels in one series), but each couple was given its own miniseries instead of bundling them into one show. En of Love also still dealt with some serious queer angst, especially in the Love Mechanics story [Sidenote, Niink, the director for En of Love, stuck with New and moved on to work for Wabi Sabi].

At this point, New created his own company, Studio Wabi Sabi, which he's said in interviews was to gain more creative control over what he was working on. And his stories became arguably even more explicitly queer and inclusive of queer trauma. He screenwrote and produced Love By Chance (which folks may not remember or know, but that core story starts off with Pete being blackmailed for being gay until Ae convinces him to come out to his mother and shut down the leverage for blackmail, and a good chunk of Pete’s character arc is unlearning internalized homophobia and not seeing himself as ‘corrupting’ Ae) and then Until We Meet Again. The queer angst in UWMA probably doesn’t need my help spelling out, but just in case anyone doesn’t know the summary, this show was about a queer couple who committed suicide in the face of homophobia in the 1980s, and were reborn and given another chance to be together in present day. I did want to note that in both of these series (LBC and UWMA) the core romance itself has no major conflicts; both AePete and DeanPharm felt like they were intentionally side-stepping so many of the usual BL drama tropes of jealousy and misunderstandings through trust and communication. Dean and Pharm’s story took that even further by having so many of the usual drama pitfalls for a gay couple just not be a problem; their only drama comes from their past lives, in a beautiful exploration of the breaking of intergenerational trauma. So many external threats to their relationship ended up being non-starters, and this was my version of a comfort series for that reason.

From there, New started working with GMMTV again, and directed My Gear and Your Gown. This series was, to my knowledge, the first GMMTV BL series to mention HIV and to show characters getting tested at the clinic, and while it wasn’t perfect representation (didn’t get into PrEP, treated HIV as a death sentence), it felt like an important milestone.

[I’m skipping the sequels and specials he did for series I already talked about, because they don’t feel that important to the story I’m telling here and this is already so long, but I wanted to acknowledge that I’m not covering everything in his oeuvre.]

He then directed 7 Project, which had some serious storylines dealing with bullying and struggling with life in the closet, out of Wabi Sabi, and then Star and Sky out of GMMTV. Star in My Mind included one of the main characters in a beard relationship for years, and some controversy over the adaptation choices to make Daonuea (Dunk’s character) less polite than in the books. There was drama around the pronouns and characterization in that show (both Daonuea and Khabkluen use guu/mueng in the series, but in the novel, Daonuea uses rao; he also curses in the series and novel fans complained that he was too ‘masculine’). I thought it was an interesting attempt at a departure from BL character tropes to try to make Daonuea more evenly matched with Khabkluen in terms of his gender presentation in the show. Sky in Your Heart also included some angst about whether people of a particular station could be gay. Both of these shows (SIMM and SIYH) were also very trope-y, but they had clear throughlines.

My Only 12%, the next show New directed out of Wabi Sabi, contains one of my favourite moments in all of BL, in which Seeiw sees Love of Siam and cries because it makes him realize he’s gay. There’s this heartfelt moment where he asks his sister, if there’s nothing wrong with being gay, why doesn’t the film let the gay characters have a happy ending? Despite the weird PSA ending, this show remains one of my favourites.

This is an aside but I’ve long been fascinated about this moment in New’s history: he played himself in War of Y, as a director of BL who is sick of being forced to make BL shows full of fanservice; he treats the actors with disdain and cuts marketable high heat scenes from the show which makes everyone nervous for the show’s future. Later we see him and the actor characters on set for My Only 12%, much happier. I ask myself about this moment at least once a week: Did he write this self-insert? Did someone else write the character and he just played it, and the similarities to his style were (were not?) a coincidence? I hope someone knows and tells me one day,

From there, New functioned as an Executive Producer of Dear Doctor, I’m Coming for Soul [I think this was the first outsourced project by Wabi Sabi]. This series’ entire plot is a metaphor for living in the closet and waiting for the time when the main couple can be together fully without having to hide.

He directed A Boss and a Babe for GMMTV (which had its problems for sure, but also had Cher as an out gay man at the workplace dealing with casual homophobia in a way that was extremely satisfying), and then Between Us, which is maybe the least queer feeling show Wabi Sabi produced on its own, but did go into the issues of dating and the closet while trying to become a star (if I’ve forgotten something from this show let me know, I only watched it the once). One of the things that was so strange about this show was it being a sequel to UWMA but not engaging with the same themes. The only mention of real world queerness I can remember was the acknowledgment that they can’t get married in Thailand and Dean and Pharm discussing again going abroad and getting married there.

Absolute Zero was a complete mess of a show; New directed this one for Wabi Sabi, and it has some similarities to UWMA in the sense of there being an attempt at saving the gays from the bury your gays trope, this time via time loop rather than reincarnation, but it did not take the issues it raised seriously enough (including the age gap created between the two characters by virtue of time travel).

And that leads us to We Are for GMMTV, which as Pluem (@happypotato48) wrote in his excellent post about this, includes Toey using nu and other 'feminine' or 'youthful' sounding language, but also apparently dropped the main conflict of the novel between Phum and his father (because his father disapproved of Peem).

Why did I go through all of that? Because I wanted to lay out how I've watched New Siwaj’s career go from finding a way to tell incredibly poignant and healing queer narratives (by creating his own company, and fitting these moments into the GMMTV series he did work on) to stripping out queerness from the shows he’s creating in the last year or so.

And this is a pattern we’re seeing more widely at GMMTV in particular, but also in Thai QL more widely. This is something that was touched on but not really discussed in the most recent episode of The Conversation podcast (the 23.5 and only boo! episode here). In both 23.5 and Only Boo!, the show faked out a homophobic parent and then treated their kids like they were silly to assume the worst, and I hated that.

Both Ongsa and Kang had internalized homophobia in their respective series. Both were terrified of telling their mothers about their homosexual love interest. And in both cases, their mothers told them something along the lines of 'of course I will support you no matter what'. In Ongsa's case, even though she was outed by Sun without her consent, she's the one who ends up apologizing for her hesitancy and feeling foolish for her concern. In Kang's case, the show never challenges his mother's assertion that she'll always support him even though we know she hasn’t (she was the one who wanted to prevent him from studying art before his father died), and it’s the audience that was left feeling foolish for our concern.

In the GMMTV round table for Pride Month, it was mentioned that the decision for Ongsa's mother to be accepting of her relationship with Sun was made in order to model good parental behaviour for the older generation in the audience. In the novel, Ongsa's mother presents a significant conflict, but this conflict was erased from the show. I don't know if the same decision was made in Only Boo! for the same reason or not, but either way, the show definitely signalled to Kang's mother having an issue with Kang's relationship with Moo, and then said "sike", which I did not enjoy. The Conversation panelists were correct in the conversation linked and transcribed above that this wasn't the most egregious misstep either show made, but it feels like a telling symptom of the larger overall narrative problems that New is also now succumbing to.

It seems as though telling stories stripped of queer conflict is being seen as progressive, and possibly also easier to sell, and this is where my anxiety lies around what this will mean for Thai QL content in future.

For the record, I am all for creating queer content in which we envision a better world for ourselves. But when that is the goal, understanding where internalized homophobia comes from and thinking through how removing parental objection will affect the character and the story is vital to the story and characterization remaining coherent. Otherwise it just ends up feeling like the show is telling queer kids that they're paranoid, rather than rightly worried (like I wrote about in this thread on My Love Mix-Up Thailand, where the same decision was made again to fake out a homophobic subplot that was removed from the adaptation but was present in the source material).

These choices speak to adaptation choices with an eye for specific moments and story points, rather than to a narrative or character arc, which is where it feels like they fall into the wider pattern of what @bengiyo, @shortpplfedup and @ginnymoonbeam were describing in their discussion: shows caring more about hitting specific meme-able story points listed out on a whiteboard than about making cohesive sense or having something coherent to say.

[So as not to leave it out: I don’t think there were concerns of homophobia in the Wandee Goodday novel (novel readers feel free to correct me if I’m wrong about this) but the show faked us out about homophobia concerns anyway, which again really bothered me during that watch and which adds to the pattern.]

Now, of course, as I stated up at the top there is value in the creation of different kinds of media. These shows sell different fantasies than the ones I want to see, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have value.All of BL has some amount of fantasy that it’s buying into, that’s what comes with the territory of ‘fiction’. The BL bubble (in which homophobia doesn’t exist and all men are gay for each other) is a version that is at its most extreme; nothing bad ever happens that isn’t quickly resolved within an episode, so there is never narrative tension, and nobody really needs to be that concerned about how anything will go ever. I do not find these relaxing because I can’t buy into the fantasy they’re selling; for me, the lack of narrative tension is so unbelievable as to ruin my immersion. But I can see why that would be appealing for someone whose brain is not always on alert and running at 11/10! The problem I am anticipating is when the majority of content is made that way, and when it is done in a way that takes up all of the mainstream space. I think it’s notable that the only show that’s really felt not in the queer bubble from GMMTV in 2024 is Cooking Crush, which was done by a subsidiary team within GMMTV (and the same team went on to make Only Boo!). And this is why We Are caught my attention and made me nervous; When a director who is known for his representation of poignant queer angst makes an entire 16-hour series in which there are no significant conflicts at all and the only hint of homophobia is in Toey’s reference to being bullied prior to the timeframe of the series, I get worried about who is going to be making the queer angst shows in future!

For the record, my personal preference for comfort shows are the shows that do not pretend the world is perfect, but do depict an idealized subset of that world→where there’s a group of people that support one another through the bullshit of others and the less than perfect world that surrounds them. Shows that teach us to be kind to one another, and ourselves. Shows that say the world is going to suck sometimes, but we can be good to one another, and not lose sight of who we are, and make space for others to be themselves. A few of my favourite Thai series that do this would be:

Bad Buddy

Cooking Crush

City of Stars

Knock Knock Boys

Miracle of Teddy Bear

My Only 12%

Secret Crush on You

To Sir With Love

Until We Meet Again

(and of course these occur in non-Thai shows as well. A few examples of my favourites: What Did You Eat Yesterday, DNA Says Love You, Light on Me, Oppan, Marahuyo Project, TsukuTabe, Tadaima Okaeri, Koisenu Futari, Joshi-teki Seikatsu, Gameboys, Hehe and He, Twilight out of Focus, She Makes My Heart Flutter)

These are shows in which there are explicitly external judgments on the relationships in the show and/or the characters for things intrinsic to who they are, and the characters build a support structure in which folks are encouraged to be themselves within that ‘bubble’ (Bad Buddy walks a fine line because it’s within the BL bubble but the problems that the main couple face are so a direct allegory that everything feels familiar; this is also the case with Tadaima Okaeri, which is both omegaverse and one of the most beautifully kind shows of all time).

So for now, I still have the other smaller Thai studios including Kongthup Productions (who made Knock Knock Boys; we’ll see whether their latest series Monster Next Door deals with any queer angst or not), idolFactory (just finished My Marvellous Dream is You, which had a ton of queer angst, and is currently doing The Loyal Pin, which I have hope for on this front), DeeHup (currently making I Saw You In My Dream, which I’m holding out hope for) and StarHunter Entertainment (who made City of Stars, but whose record is a little spotty on this front; Their latest, Sunset Vibes, has not done a great job of handling the theme of office relationships and blackmail so far, and feels very much in the bubble) to look forward to.

But as you can see even just by virtue of the caveats I included above, it feels like this shift is happening in the smaller companies too (harder to see a real pattern with fewer data points, which is one of the reasons why I picked on GMMTV–in addition to it being the largest media conglomerate in Thailand and therefore able to take it). Maybe it’s nothing, maybe I’m just an anxious person. Or maybe I’m just wrong about what would be best for the genre and for queer people in Thailand as well as viewers all over the world. But I, for one, would find it a loss if Thai QL decides en masse to pivot away from queer angst, and right now it kind of feels like that’s what it’s doing. In this context, to reiterate my original point, the existence of We Are is not a problem, but is one in a set of exemplars that raised specific alarm bells due to the people involved and their history in QL and queer representation, its deviation from the source material, and the surrounding shows that seem to indicate a pattern rather than a one-off.

#bl meta #multi bl #typed so that i can stop thinking it #long post #we are the series #i'm not going to tag every series I mentioned in this post or I'll be here all night #thanks for bearing with me everyone

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