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celestie0 · 3 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer.

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was.

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal.

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far.

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.”

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft.

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji.

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin.

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more?

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story.

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was.

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad.

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it.

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.”

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them.

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood.

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly.

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you.

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up.

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them.

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena.

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast.

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up.

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them.

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet.

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off.

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight.

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue.

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath.

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm.

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet.

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you?

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it.

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty.

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to.

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue.

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you.

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.”

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough.

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad.

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable.

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest.

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him.

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking.

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

@joemama-2 @erencvlt @pickuptruck01 @hanakotateyama @nuronhe

@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

@aliidarling @ninjaturtletoes @lavender-hvze @lanadelreylover11 @chckn-pi

@satoryaa @gojodickbig @v4mpieres @reinam00n @sleepyyammy

@haikomaiko @tbzzluvr @myahfig4 @arabelluhhh4200 @bloopsstuff

@nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf @badbclub @blackunecorn @geniejunn @n0tviv

@verystrawberryhottub @iheartshopping @peonysfordayz @dreamsxmerci @aishies-stuff

@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

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marbles-for-breakfast · 6 months ago

Note

I mean, no one actually knows for certain how traumagenic systems form either. The theory of structural dissociation is pretty speculative when it comes to DID. We don’t know exactly what causes most brain differences. The brain is really complicated, and even when we’re able to pinpoint what about the brain causes the differences, the WHY of it is impossible to determine with any sort of certainty in the vast, vast majority of cases.

But aside from that, why do we need to know exactly how we formed in order to accept that this is how we are? Is it really so unbelievable that some people are just born this way? If being plural/multiple is something that can happen, which it obviously is, why are we so sure it can only be caused by one thing? How would you even prove WHY someone is plural/multiple? And if you can’t prove why someone is plural/multiple, how can you prove that all systems are caused by trauma? And if we can’t prove that, why are people so certain? Because it’s not from looking at the science.

So, does telling other people they’re not valid make you feel more valid? Does telling yourself a bunch of tumblr/twitter users are the reason you’re not accepted feel more manageable than grappling with the reality of society’s ableism? Are you simply in an echo-chamber of misinformation and demonizing of other perspectives?

I have an honest and non-judge mental suggestion for the asker here. If you really want to know what someone believes, ask THEM. I know endos can probably be a little hostile to anti-endos because of the whole telling-us-that-our-material-reality-is-fake thing, but I’m sure some people would be willing to be patient and respectful. A lot of us really do just want anti-endos to listen and try to understand. That’s why I try to come across as kindly as I can (even though people can read whatever tone they want into my words), and all I really do is try to explain.

I see some genuine questions on this blog, which makes me sad because I know they’re not going to find any answers here, so I try to give my own and I hope the original question-askers will see them. I just wanna have a genuine conversation where my own existence isn’t called into question or framed as a debate. I just want to refine my opinions and expand my knowledge.

I want to learn about my own system through talking to others. I can’t do that if the tag I’m using is filled with people trying to tell me that we must have some secret hidden trauma we have no evidence for, and if we don’t, we’re not real. Does no one think it’s a bad idea to tell someone who might very well have a dissociative disorder that they’re not real?

Just…. just listen to people when they tell you what their experiences are. That’s all I want. It’s all I ask. I don’t need to give you a source for my experiences being real. It should go without saying that in a space like this, we should believe each other when we talk about our lives. Why does that suddenly stop when it no longer fits the narrative you were told when you first learned about DID? Why is it unthinkable that what you first heard isn’t the full story? Isn’t that usually the case with stuff like this?

Anyway, the only way we’re going to move forward with our understanding of osddid and multiplicity/plurality as a whole is by first believing each other. Or at least being willing to believe SOME things. At least be willing to LISTEN. Again, that’s all I ask. Other endos/inclusivists who feel similarly, lmk. I want to get a sense for how many people feel this way.

this might be a rude thing to ask but i'm not even a system and i'm just curious like. how do endos think systems work? like. how would it form without trauma? spontaneously?

i don't know ... It's honestly confusing

#plural #actually plural #syscourse #please stop using the plural tag to post your anti-endo stuff #who am i kidding #upsetting us is the point #i wish i could give you the benefit of the doubt in that regard #but i know that one blog sent a bunch of anti-endos to the plural tag #and the audacity to still tag endos-dni #like you’re not using an endo tag #smh #anyway my internet self-harm is over for tonight so bye #would you like to know anti-endos replaced fake disorder cringe in that regard #you’re much more tolerable #but still telling me i’m a bad person for being myself #i hope that’s a wake-up call for somebody #being compared to fake disorder cringe #this blog usually isn’t quite that bad but i’ve seen lots of stuff that feels very familiar in this sphere #oh good i’m rambling again #i’ll just end it here then #i hope you’re doing well and if not i hope things get better soon #also if you’re like 14 lmk cause i dont want to yell at a 14-year-old #i mean i’m not technically that much older but i’m old enough i really don’t want to do that #okay i’m really done now #bye

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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

Text

slumber party

in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid

fluff! warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu

“Oh, there is no way.”

Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you.

“What? Is it—”

You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?

But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before they’re back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough.

Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.

But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.

One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.

Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bit… abrasive, sometimes.

“It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their room—”

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement.

“Oh my god! You guys too?”

“What?” You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesn’t comment.

“Me and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.”

You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them.

“What about Morgan and Garcia?”

Spencer snorts.

“Something tells me Penelope wouldn’t be too torn up about it if that's the case.”

“Hotch and Rossi?”

The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.

“I don’t even… I can’t picture that.”

“Can we please not try to picture it?”

“Great. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. “I’ll… I can take the floor—”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. We’re both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“I’ve never had one,” he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up.

“Then I’m happy to be your first,” you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, I’ll be gentle. “Do you want the shower first or can I?”

Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you.

“You can have it first,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “Just don’t do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.”

“Aw. But I love doing that. It’s my favorite part,” you tease, scooping up your bag once more.

Twenty minutes later you’re emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie.

“Nice outfit,” Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish you’d been prepared for. Really, you wish you’d known ahead of time you’d have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. “I had no idea you felt so passionately about… Scooby Doo?”

“Shut up right now,” you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can.

“What?” He’s laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. “It’s a good look for you.”

Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. There’s really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks.

From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up again—a cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if he’s almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long it’ll be before he’s out again. It’s ridiculous how impatient you're getting—and by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy.

“I think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.”

The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamas—tonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneck—as well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft.

“You were sitting here waiting for me?” He chuckles, and honestly you’d been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly.

“Maybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Ha-ha.” He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. “You took the better side of the bed.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the woman. I get to do that.”

“Well you should know that if an intruder breaks in, I’m not fighting him off. You’d probably have a better chance than me.”

“And my chances will be even better if he’s distracted with you first.”

“So I’m just bait?” He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait.

That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest.

“I hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.”

It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back.

“Call me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.”

“I just don’t see how you’re even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that you’re crepuscular?” Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow.

“Obviously nobody has told me that.”

“It means y—”

“I’m most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?”

“I am,” he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. “I’m just… you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.”

You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly.

“I’ve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.”

You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you.

“This is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.”

“Good thing we’re not going to sleep yet.”

Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features.

“We’re not?”

“Oh, my god, Spencer,” you snort. “I’m not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?”

He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table.

“But it’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“At slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally can’t keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.”

Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness.

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, and your eyes haven’t adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, “but unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until you’re flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum.

Spencer doesn’t respond.

It’s silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesn’t slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy.

In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.

The mattress squeaks.

You do it again.

Another squeak.

A second goes by, and now you’re intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can.

“Would you stop that?” Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but you’re already devolving into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to smother you with this pillow,” he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to rest.”

Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark.

“What are you in the mood for?” He asks flatly, and you’ve won.

“Tell me a secret,” you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. “None that you’d want to hear.”

“Oh, now that’s just not true. You’re an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.”

You’re only sort of kidding.

“I… fascinate you?”

“Completely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what you’re thinking about. But you’re very… hard to read, sometimes. I think it’s because you’re a Scorpio.”

“The position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.”

“Fine,” you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t display the archetypal Scorpio traits. You’re all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowable…”

“Sexy?” He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. You’d hoped he would catch that one.

“Hey,” you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I won’t let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.”

“When have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile.

“Stop flirting and answer my question, Reid.”

With the amount of times you’ve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. It’s so pitch black in the room, you can’t see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when he’s tired and speaking this lowly, which you’ve never heard before.

“All the secrets I’ve never told anyone are just… depressing.”

Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you.

“Not very good slumber party material, I think,” he laughs self-consciously.

“You’d be surprised.”

The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than you’ve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and support—even if it doesn’t always seem that way when you’re teasing him.

“Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone else?” He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you.

And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those he’d elected not to share only a moment ago.

But you don’t bring those up.

Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. You’ve really never told anyone this, and it’s perhaps more vulnerable than you’d realized before the words were already leaving your mouth.

“I, have…” You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. “I have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.”

“You do?” Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face.

“Yes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. He’s an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?”

“Family annihilator from Houston?”

“Correct. He’s in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the O’Hara and Diangelo families.”

“You have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?”

“He’s—I mean, I wasn’t expecting to share a room with someone.”

“So he’s in your bag.”

“Yes,” you seethe, “and I will not be introducing you to him. He doesn’t do well with men.”

“You are genuinely psychotic.”

You huff.

“Fine. I’m sorry I told you anything.”

You’re about to roll over onto your other side—but Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently.

“You’re right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.” His tone is surprisingly teasing, and you’re so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you can’t muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. “I’m sorry I don’t have any secrets for you.”

The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimes—it’s like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He can’t control it. He can’t be anyone other than who he is. Maybe that’s a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. It’s not exactly a secret—anyone on the team would be able to tell as much. You’ve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that.

“It’s okay,” you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll think of something. ’Cause, y’know—you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

“Oh, god,” he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you don’t mind. You’ll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine

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emoreemadden · 4 months ago

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hii! it’s been a while <3 anyways here’s a request from a friend.

Outline: Gojo doesn’t want to be your friend anymore and tells you straight to your face. Unfortunately, you take it the wrong way.

Content Warnings: fluff kinda?, angst ish???, miscommunication trope 😭 idk not many tags or warnings for this one. lmk if i missed anything

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, fem!reader

A/N: i was supposed to finish this WAYYYYYY sooner 😭 my bad… word count: 1815

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Gojo Satoru. An enigma for sure.

You both have been best friends for longer than you remember. Well, maybe best friends is the wrong term. You said you were best friends, but it didn’t feel that way. At least not to you.

Every time you saw Gojo, your heart would flutter. Perhaps it was normal, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you had some kind of feelings for him.

You just wished he felt the same.

“What’s wrong?” Gojo had noticed you’d been acting different recently. He puts a hand on your shoulder. “You’re being weird.”

You shrug at him, trying to act normal. Even though you’ve always felt this way about him, you’ve only just now stopped bothering to hide it.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes flit to the ground. “Just tired, I guess.”

And Gojo, being the nice guy that he is, pulls you into a hug. It shouldn’t make you feel this way, like there’s butterflies in your stomach. But it does.

You’re conflicted between wanting to cry and wanting to hug him until you two became one.

“You should get some rest.” He suggests, pulling away and flashing you one of his cheery grins.

“I’ll try my best.” You smile back, though it’s not very passionate.

Gojo pats your head. There’s a pitiful look on his face. “Are you still down for lunch tomorrow?” He asks. Always so considerate, yet he’s never realized how you feel about him.

“Yeah, sure.” You try to up the dosage of your weary smile. “You still working on that surprise?” You ask. Gojo’s been planning this for weeks, teasing you about his “lunch date surprise.”

He grins cheekily. “‘Course I am.” His slender fingers fidget with his sleeves. “What kind of friend would I be to go back on my word?”

Friend.

The word taunts you like a bully, but you push the thought away. It’s all you’ll ever be, anyways. Friends.

You chuckle when you snap back to reality. “A pretty shitty one, I’d say.”

“Language, young lady.” He teases. You open your mouth to say something, but his phone rings.

“Sorry, I gotta go.” He gives you an apologetic look. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Be prepared!” He looks giddy.

“Yep.” You reply tightly. “Bye, ‘Toru.” You wave as he walks away.

“Do I buy her flowers or something?” Gojo says to Suguru over the phone.

“You’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Why has it only occured to you now to get her flowers?” Suguru replies, and Gojo can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Well I don’t normally confess to my best friend-” Geto tuts before he can continue.

Gojo sighs. “Okay, girl best friend. Better?” He asks.

“No, but continue anyways.” There’s an awkward pause on Gojo’s part.

“I’m nervous.” Gojo finally admits. “I’m like, really nervous.”

Suguru chuckles. “Gojo Satoru, the strongest Sorcerer there is, is nervous to confess to a girl.” He says, his laugh getting louder. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh shut up, would you?” And Geto only laughs harder, his chuckle turning into full blown howling.

“Fuck off!” And with that, the call clicks off. Gojo sighs, shoving his phone in his pocket and falling back onto his bed.

“I’m screwed.”

You sit at the cafe Gojo had invited you too weeks prior, sighing as you stare at the clock.

“Where is he..?” You mutter to yourself.

Suddenly, as if on cue, he strides in as giddy as ever, looking around for a minute before spotting you and grinning.

“There you are!” He says as he sits down at the table with you. He’s sweating slightly, like he’s anxious.

You smile back at him, and immediately it feels like there’s a thorny rose in your belly, poking you from the inside. “Hey ‘Toru.”

He beams at you. “Did I keep you waiting long?” He asks, giving you an apologetic look for being a few minutes late.

You shake your head. “It’s alright. Now would you please tell me what your little surprise is?”

“Well I can’t give it away so easily!” He pouts playfully. “You haven’t even ordered.” He notes the empty table.

You sigh, before flagging down a waitress. “Can I please get two iced coffees?”

The waiter notes down your order and runs off, leaving you to stare at Satoru expectantly. “Yes I have.”

He tuts, rolling his eyes. “We’ll get to the surprise later. For now, tell me how your day is going.”

So you do. You two talk for a few minutes, and you practically forget about the surprise, until he reminds you.

“Alright, I’ll tell you your surprise now.” He says after the waitress leaves with Gojo’s order of a tiramisu cake and two spoons.

You perk up, curious to find out what he’s been alluding to for so long.

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”

You can almost hear the sound of your heart crunching as he steps on it with his words.

“What?” You squeak, tears forming in your eyes.

Gojo stares at you, confused. “Didn’t you hear me?”

You swallow thickly, feeling bile rise in your throat. “But… why?” You feel your tears rolling down your cheeks.

Gojo is alarmed, staring at your crying face. “Why are you crying? Do you… not feel the same?”

You shake your head feverishly, about to open your mouth, but the waitress places down your cake before you can speak.

Gojo looks down at the cake and then back up at you, his expression dimming.

“So you want to be friends?” He asks, sounding heartbroken himself.

You nod, confused. “I thought you did too!” Your chest swells with hurt.

Gojo seems completely distraught. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. “…No.” He finally says, looking down at the ground.

You stand up from the table with your purse, placing down a few bills before sniffling, trying to wipe your eyes. “I’m going home.” You mumble, turning to leave.

Gojo just stares at you walk away, feeling his spirit burn. “Oh.” He whispers, looking down at the cake on the table.

You hop in your car, tears streaming down your face rapidly as you grip the steering wheel tightly. Your head collapses against the wheel and your body convulses as you sob, shaking like crazy.

You knew Gojo would never feel the same way about you as you did with him, but you thought you’d at least always be friends.

You whimper as you curl up into a ball in the driver's seat, too upset to drive.

Meanwhile, Gojo is inside the cafe, eating the cake silently while he stares at the second spoon.

He’s so confused. He had a sneaking suspicion that you’d reject his love for you, but he didn’t expect you to do it so heartlessly. You cried, for god’s sake! He hadn’t predicted for you to be so opposed to the idea of being more than friends with him.

He feels his heart clench when he remembers your face after he confessed. He sighs, finishing his desert before leaving the cafe defeatedly, his hands in his pockets as he walks home.

The second he opens his door, he collapses against it, sliding to his knees and curling into a ball. He thinks for a moment, before calling up Suguru.

“Have you done it yet? What did she say?” Is the first thing that comes out of Geto’s mouth when he picks up. The reminder of the whole debacle just makes Gojo even more sorrowful than he already was.

“She rejected me.” Gojo says solemnly. The air falls silent for a few moments.

Geto is the first to break the silence. “What did you say?” He finally asks.

Gojo sighs. “I said I didn’t want to be friends anymore.” He replies.

A beat of silence passes.

“And?” Geto urges.

Gojo, confused, replies. “And what?”

“And then what did you say?” He asks.

Still extremely confused, Gojo pauses. “…Nothing.” He says, a hint of uncertainty in his answer.

Geto, with a loud sigh, rolls his eyes. “Are you dumb?” He asks.

“Huh? What’d I do?!” Gojo frowns.

“You goddamn idiot, she probably thought you meant you didn’t want to be friends at all!” Suguru slaps his forehead, which is heard from Gojo’s end of the line.

“Because I don’t!” Gojo protests, now even more confused.

Suguru heaves with annoyance. “She thought you didn’t like her anymore, dumbass.”

Another beat of silence.

A wave of realization hits Gojo. “Oh, fuck.” Is all he says before hanging up and hopping to his feet, running out the door to go find you.

Luckily, on his run to your house, Satoru sees your car still parked outside of the cafe. Panting like a madman, he walks up to it and knocks on your passenger door window, startling you back into your surroundings.

Your eyes widen when you see Satoru awkwardly waving at you through your window. Your eyes are puffy and red from crying, which he notices.

He taps your window, as if to say ‘open up!”

You sniffle as you roll it down, rubbing your eyes.

“Hey, I think you misinterpreted what I said back there.” He gestures to the cafe, his sentence broken up by loud, heavy breaths.

“Why are you so tired?” You ask in return.

“I ran here.” He replies, giving you a lazy grin before he continues with his explanation.

“When I said I didn’t want to be friends anymore, I meant because I want to be more than friends.” He begins, poking his head through your open window to get a little closer to you.

“I really, really like you.” He confesses, a light blush tinting his cheeks. “And I don’t want to be friends. I want to be your boyfriend.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, before letting out a breathy laugh. “Of course you screwed up like that.” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose as you smile.

He ignored your little jab. “So? What do you say?” He asks. “Please don’t reject me, I ran all the way here.” He begs.

You laugh again, rubbing your red eyes and unlocking your car door. “I don’t want to be friends either, Satoru.”

His eyes light up at your statement and he immediately throws the door open, fitting himself into the passenger seat before he turns to face you.

“Really, you mean it?” He asks excitedly, looking at you with hopeful eyes. “You don’t?”

You smile. “Not at all.”

And with your confirmation, he grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss, gently wiping your past tears as he does so.

He pulls back for a second to grin at you. “Thank god, because I was not ready to run all the way back home.” He jokes before going back to kissing you.

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i2sunric · 7 months ago

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𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (l.hs)

pairing: heeseung x reader (f)

summary: your daughter asks heeseung to tell the greatest love story of all and he takes the chance to narrate how he met you, the love of his life.

warnings: fluff & crack! (i tried), early 2000s au, kinda enemies to lovers, heeseung is down bad, they have a daughter, mentions of pregnancy, heeseung plays basketball, cuddling and kissing, light angst, mentions of leukaemia, parent’s death, if more lmk. NOT PROOFREAD

published: 23rd April 2024

wc: 6.2k

tag list: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted

Heeseung couldn’t bring himself to wake you up, knowing you were so exhausted from all the things you had to do.

Not only did you manage to prepare everything for Jia’s kindergarten, take her there and get to work in time but you also cleaned and cooked in your spare time, leaving little to just sit down and rest, which was why every time you sat down on the sofa, you ended up falling in a deep slumber.

He smiled fondly, covering your curled figure with a blanket and turned around with his hands on his hips “Tin Soldier.”

He called with a forced low voice, making Jia’s attention turn from the toy in her hand to her father, she placed her stocky hand on her forehead, standing at attention “Captain Hamster.”

Heeseung chuckled at her high pitched voice and scooped her up from the floor, taking her in his arms “Mission sweet tooth,” He booped her nose “Time for teeth brushing.”

Jia let out a whine of disappointment “But I want to play more.” She pouted, and if Heeseung didn’t know how much you’d get upset if Jia missed her bedtime, he’d let his daughter play to her heart's content.

“I know,” He pinched her cheek softly, earning a giggle “But I heard the tooth fairy doesn’t come to those who don’t brush their teeth before bed…” He trailed off, Jia’s eyes widened and she quickly climbed down Heeseung’s arms, hurrying upstairs. He could hear her small steps darting to the bathroom, making him smile writhing himself.

He glanced back at you, feeling such an euphoric feeling he thought his heart would explode.

Heeseung walked close to you and placed a featherlight kiss on your forehead, but your momma instinctive feelings made your eyes open up, alerted to your surroundings as you tried to get the sight of your daughter.

“Shh..” He soothed, caressing your cheek “I’ll prepare Jia for bed, mh?” He kissed the corner of your lips, your eyes already closed under his relaxing touch “You stay here, I'll take you to bed later.” You just let out a sleepy hum, your eyes too heavy to stay open more.

Heeseung went upstairs, following his daughter’s route and getting to the bathroom where she was already brushing her teeth, probably with a little too much toothbrush but it didn’t matter. He was glad she was trying.

Jia rinsed her mouth and opened it to let her father see how much of a good job she did, Heeseung smiled proudly “Great job, Tin Soldier. It's jammy mission now.” Jia giggled as she hurried off the stool that helped her reach the faucet and took Heeseung's sleeve, dragging him (more like, he let himself be dragged) to her bedroom.

The baby took her pyjama from the chair and placed it on the bed, “Daddy, can you help me?” She asked, clumsily removing her clothes.

Heeseung nodded, smiling as he saw her attempts at changing, despite still not majoring in it. In no time, she was clean and ready to bed, Heeseung tugged her under the blankets and sat by the edge of the bed, only the thin reflection of the pink night light illuminating the room.

They stared at each other for a few moments until Jia spoke “No bedtime story?” She tilted her head in confusion “You want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

“Mommy always does,” He explained, hugging her purple bear tightly “And what kind of stories does mommy tell you?” Heeseung asked, curious

“She usually recounts Tangled because she like a Flynn Rider.” Jia informed, making Heeseung raise a brow “She does?” Was it possible to feel jealous of a cartoon character? Probably not but Heeseung was crazy about you, so he’d make it a normal thing.

“Yes, but it’s always the same story.” Jia sighed, shaking her head “I want a more interesting one.”

Heeseung stayed silent, his lips forming a thin line as he tried to think “What do you want to hear about?”

It didn’t take much for Jia to reply “I want the greatest love story of all.” She answered happily, at her age, everything was about fantasies and unicorns.

So, Heeseung tried to think about the many love stories he knew, the famous tales he’d known growing up. There was Cinderella, The Little Mermaid and…. a candle lit in his mind.

“I’ll tell you the greatest love story of all,” He started with a cocky smirk “The best fairytale ever told.”

His words fuelled Jia’s curiosity as she snuggled better under the blankets, eyes sparkling “The wonderful love story of Lee Heeseung and L/N Y/N.”

Jia’s face was puzzled “But that’s you and mommy.” She stated and Heeseung nodded, smiling “Mommy isn’t a princess.”

Heeseung shook his head, but his smile never disappeared from his lips. “No, she’s my queen.” He ruffled Jia’s hair “So, do you want to hear it?”

“Mhmh!” Jia hummed in response “If mommy is a queen then I am the princess.” Heeseung let out a low chuckle, nodding “Yes, you are our dear princess.”

Jia smiled widely, one of those smiles that made your days uncontrollably better and sweeter “Tell me, tell me.” She incited her father

“It all started on..”

⪩⪨

A rainy Thursday afternoon. It was the perfect time for a cinema hang out with friends. You stood in front of the long line, it seemed like everyone had your same idea since both elderly couples and families with children were buying tickets and popcorn. You waved your hand to a young boy who was staring at you while holding a sachet of popcorn bigger than him, he waved back, making you smile.

You turned your head to see that most of the queue was gone, so you surpassed some of those people who never moved and just stared at the menu. You already knew your order, so why would you wait for them to choose?

The cashier who looked like he could really do a vacation asked in a monotone voice “What do you want to order?”

“A packet of Twizzlers.” You said but your voice did not seem quite like yours. You turned your head to the side just to meet a pair of big eyes staring at you in disbelief.

You two narrowed your eyes at each other, a staring battle that would declare the winner. Why were you acting that way? Because the packet of Twizzlers was the last one, and if that pretty boy thought he could steal it from you, he thought wrongly.

The cashier cleared his throat. “It’s the last one.” He stated, holding the dear packet of candies in front of you two

“I was there first.” The boy tried to defend himself, making you scoff “He was talking to me.” You raised a challenging brow.

“I clearly saw you cutting the line.” He blamed “False accusation, do you have any proof?”

“You were at the end of the queue just two seconds ago!” He exclaimed, making you smirk “You were staring at me?” Pink flashed instantly on the guy’s cheeks “No.” He tried to mask it, but you could clearly see some frustration in his features

The cashier cleared his throat once again, snatching your attention. “Just decide already, or I will.”

“No!” You both screamed, side eyeing each other once again “They’re mine.” The boy said, making you roll your eyes, “Your name ain’t written on them.”

“Neither is yours.” He raised his chin, an attempt to make you see he wasn’t backing down.

There was a moment where you two stared at each other, silence filling the place except for the vociferate inside the cinema halls, waiting for the movie to begin.

“Rock, paper, scissors!” You both exclaimed at the same time again, showing your hands. He cursed under his breath, seeing your petite hand that represented paper wrap around his closed fist which was rock.

“I won.” You said mockingly, throwing a few coins on the counter and taking the packet of twizzlers in your hand.

You were walking away when the cashier called you “Miss, excuse me?” You turned around and raised a questioning brow

He waved the coins you used to pay for the candies “You’re missing ten cents.”

You widened your eyes, checking your jeans pockets. You were sure you took the right amount of money, had you miscounted them?

An hopeful grin spread across the guy’s lips, taking the pennies from the cashier’s fingers and walking toward you “Guess this should be mine.” He tried to take the packet of Twizzlers but you moved your arm

He sighed, shaking his head “Listen, darling—“ “Don’t call me darling” You snapped at him, a frown on your face

He placed two surrounding hands between you two “Alright, my bad.” He then pointed at you and the dear packet of candies “You don’t have enough money, but I do, so just give it up and go watch your movie.”

Your mouth fell agape, staring at him in disbelief. However, you had nothing to counterattack anymore and had to stay still when he took the packet, replacing your hand with your not enough coins and paying for it to the overtired cashier.

The boy winked at you before disappearing down the corridor that led to the halls.

A movie just wasn’t the same without Twizzlers, but instead of doing twenty cents charity outside the cinema to buy at least a coke, you hurried inside the hall that projected ‘The Notebook’ and tried to find your seat, despite the room being dark already. Fortunately, there was at least ten minutes of advertising, so you had enough time to let yourself fall on the seat with a loud thud, earning a few ‘shhh’s from other people.

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” Your best friend, Sunoo asked “What took you so long to come back? I thought you got lost or something.”

You shook your head, a defeated expression painted on your face “Someone stole my Twizzlers.” You fake-dried a tear

“Aw, poor you.” Sunoo patted your shoulder, knowing your tradition of eating candies and drinking coke while watching a movie “It’s ok, I’ll share my coke with you.” He took the giant cup and placed it on the armrest between the two of you. You smiled at him and focused your attention on the movie that started.

You felt a familiar scent filling your nostrils, you slowly turned your head and raised a brow when you noticed that not only had that boy stolen your candies, he was also eating them on the seat beside yours. You had not noticed it when you first sat down, but now you could clearly see his silhouette enjoying the snack that should’ve been yours.

As if feeling someone’s stare on him, he turned his head and met your angry gaze, his eyes widened a little before they turned into two half-moons, a smug grin on his lips. You exchanged no words but the way he was acting was so mocking it made your blood burn.

You gave your attention back to the film, not wanting to fuel his ego by acting affected by his childish behaviour. Yes, it was childish, but you were more petty so it did anger you. Who did he think he was to act that way?

The movie continued, even if you were painfully aware of the parasite beside you, you were able to follow the whole plot line until the ending scene was replaced with the closing credits. Murmurs filled the cinema room, the lights went on and you heard.

Sunoo was crying rivers beside you which made you chuckle, he had already finished his third tissue when he said “I’ll run to the bathroom.” To probably cry some more and try to fix his swelling eyes later. You were about to follow him when you heard a sniffle from your other side, you turned around and your eyes lit up when you noticed the stealer crying.

He raised his head and hid it behind his hands when he noticed you were staring. A heartfelt laugh escaped your lips “Don’t laugh at me.” He mumbled with a clear runny nose “You bet I am.” You sat down again, waiting for all the people to flow out and leave the exits freer “That’s what you get for stealing my snacks.”

He peaked at you from behind his fingers. “It’s not my fault you’re broke.” You tsked at his false-not-so-false statement “It’s not my fault you’re a crybaby.”

He side-eyed you and you side-eyed him back, just like Sunoo had taught you. The boy tried to dry his tears and runny nose, which was both unhygienic and impossible with one palm of his hand.

You felt a little pitiful for him and sighed, taking a tissue from the small tissue box and handing it to the boy.

He eyed it warily, not sure if he should’ve accepted it or not. “It’s not poisonous, unlike your germs.” You waved it in front of his face and he accepted it with a groan, blowing his nose and drying his tears.

He crumpled it and put it in his jeans pocket, staring at you while gulping down in a nervous way. You chuckled teasingly “What? Is the venom acting up?”

He rolled his eyes and took something from inside his hoodie’s pocket, “I saved this for you.”

You stared at the red candy stick he was holding out for you with a frown “What?” You asked, puzzled. Heeseung just sighed, acting unbiased. “I was full, don’t think I did it out of kindness.”

“What’s your name?” You asked suddenly, making him widen his eyes “Careful, you sound interested.”

You pursued your lips “Just answer, yeah?” The boy placed the candy on your palm, standing up.

You hadn’t noticed it, but he towered you by a lot just with you sitting, you didn’t imagine how you would have to pull your neck to look into his eyes by standing in front of him.

He stretched, lazily placing his hands in his pocket “Heeseung,” He beckoned to you “Y/N.” You replied

“Thank you for the tissue, Y/N.” He said and the way your name rolled from his tongue made your stomach turn. Whether it was disgust or attraction, you didn’t dare to label.

“Unthank you for the Twizzlers.” You smirked and turned on your heels, walking away before he even had the chance to talk to you more.

⪩⪨

“You cried over a movie?” Jia asked in an accusatory tone “I’m a sensitive person.” Heeseung huffed, blinking faintly

“I think you’re just a cry baby.” Jia raised her chin proudly “I didn’t even cry when I went to the dentist.”

Heeseung sniggered softly, booping his daughter's nose. He couldn’t help but always show some sort of affection towards her. The feeling of protection and longing was so strong whenever they spent time together. “Of course, you’re stronger than me.”

“Did you see her again later?” Heeseung nodded “Yes, but it was a lot of time later, like one month or so.” Jia widened her eyes “That much?” He hummed, running a hand in his hair “I was always awestruck when I saw her, it happened at the cinema and again…”

⪩⪨

“A 40, please.” Heeseung forced out a smile and handed the skates to the young girl who just asked. He was supposed to be relaxing at home but his brother decided to have a small trip with his girlfriend and obviously, it was Heeseung’s turn to cover up for him.

He had been handing skates that smelled like sweat and rotten cheese to people for four hours, and the thoughts of doing that for another one and half made him feel sick.

“A 38, please.” Heeseung’s eyes widened at the familiar voice, he raised his head and stared at your face through his bangs.

“You!” You both shouted at the same time, making the gesture of the Spiderman meme “What are you doing here?” He asked, eyeing you up and down.

Perhaps, it was the reddish lightning of the room, or the fact that your hair had grown a little, seeming like the perfect length for you; or the soft make up accentuating your face. Or maybe just the toxic fumes from the overused skates played tricks on his head.

“What’s taking so long?” One arm sneaked around your shoulders, making Heeseung raise a brow.

Oh, that was why you were there.

“My size is hard to find.” You lied, beckoning to Heeseung to do his job. Complying, he turned around and found your skates. passing them to you “Remember to take the safety precautions.” He said the same phrase he’d been repeating so many times and watched as you walked away with that guy’s arm still around your shoulder.

It shouldn’t have pissed him off, but it did. The way you smiled with him, helping him skating despite him was a lost case. Seriously, that guy sucked at skating, he had fallen so many times in just one hour.

Trying to distract himself, when he saw you approaching the counter bar, he started polishing the skates, but the urge to just talk to you was strong, so he approached you, sneakingly.

“Where’s your date?” Heeseung asked, cleaning the table with a sponge near where you were sat “Bathroom.” You replied nonchalantly

A soft frown curved his forehead “You’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes, you sure he’s still in there?” At his words you smirked “You were staring at me?” Those same two words you told him when you first met.

You added “I saw him sneaking away five minutes ago, I just like to think he had a massive diarrhoea and didn’t actually dump me.”

Fucker. If he didn’t want to go out with you anymore he could’ve at least told you face to face.

The notes of ‘She Will Be Loved’ by Maroon 5 started playing as background music. Heeseung stared at you, you looked so gorgeous with your makeup, messy hair from the skating and the same bored expression you always wore, like nothing truly entertained you enough.

“What a loser.” He joked instead, earning a scoff from you “Why don’t you put yourself to good use and make me a smoothie?” You asked, sliding three coins on the counter.

Heeseung raised a brow, “I don’t know how to do it.” You raised it back “Don’t you work here?”

He shook his head “I’m just filling in for my brother.” You rolled your eyes “How useless.”

You were about to take those coins back when Heeseung stopped you, his hands brushing against yours “I’ll do it.” You smirked “A vanilla one, thank you.”

It was already late afternoon and the skating room wasn’t as packed as it was during the early hours, so Heeseung could put aside the skates sizes to make you a smoothie. Obviously, only to prove to you he was better than you thought, not because he wanted to cheer you up. Not at all.

Fiddling a little bit with the smoothies machine, he managed to make one, a little too liquid, but still drinkable.

He placed victoriously the glass in front of you, adding a straw inside “Here ya go.” You eyed it up and down, warily “Did you spit in it?”

Heeseung put a hand on his chest, acting wounded “You think so low of me.” You sighed while shaking your hand and took a small sip of the ‘vanilla smoothie’

“How is it?” He asked, hopeful. You just shrugged “Not bad for a newbie.”

Heeseung smirked, leaning against the counter, you could feel his body heat near you “Where’s my tip?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away “Nowhere.”

Your phone rang at that moment, you made a gesture for him to keep quiet and answered “Yes, mom… Yes, I know— at the, don’t shout, at the skating rink—“ A heavy sigh “Okay, I’ll be home.”

You hung up and hopped off the stool “Where are you going?” Heeseung frowned, “You haven’t even finished your smoothie.”

“Curfew.” You replied, waving your phone to him. He raised a brow “Don’t ask.”

Heeseung nodded, exiting from behind the counter, still in his brother’s uniform. Now you raised a brow “Where are you going?”

“I’ll walk you home.” You scowled, your face showing surprise “You’re working.” You stated

Heeseung pointed at the clock on the wall that ticked 06:03 PM. “Technically, my shift ended three minutes ago.”

“And why would you walk me home?” You asked “If something happened to you on the way, I’m sure your ghost would haunt me.”

You tsked, “I wouldn’t give you the honour to visit you when I’m dead.” Heeseung just smiled and nudged your shoulder with his “Lead the way, Twizzlers lover.”

You just rolled your eyes and walked out as he held the door for you “Let’s go, Twizzlers stealer.”

⪩⪨

“Why did that boy leave mommy?” Jia asked, her lips shifting to a cute pout “Because he didn’t realise what a treasure your mother is.” Heeseung answered, now sitting beside Jia with her small body curled under his arm.

“And you walked her home?” He nodded, laughing at the memories “Your grandfather went crazy when he saw me walk her home, I got a slipper thrown at my head.”

Jia chuckled as well, her soft giggles echoing through the whole room “What’s so funny? I got hurt.”

Jia chuckled loudly, hiding her face in her father’s chest “Grandpa still throws slippers at you.” She stated, making Heeseung laugh again “That’s right.”

“What happened then?” She asked, wanting to know more about her parents' love story. This was better than any prince and princesses tales her mother used to tell her.

“Later, I was forced to have dinner with them.” Heeseung started narrating, “After that awkward meal, me and Y/N grew closer. We kept bickering and fighting, but with her, no conversation was forced.”

Jia frowned “What does it mean?” She naively asked, of course she wouldn’t know this yet, so Heeseung explained “Sometimes, we feel forced to talk to others, however with your mother I didn’t even have to think about what to say, words just came to my mind.”

“Mommy seemed like she hated you.” The baby stated, glancing up to her father “She didn’t.”

Jia tilted her head “How do you know?” Heeseung smiled fondly, “I just knew.”

⪩⪨

“This one’s for you!” Heeseung exclaimed, throwing the ball to the basket just to painfully miss it. You laughed loudly at his fail “I hope that’s not how you flirt with girls or that explains why you’re single.” You snickered

Heeseung reached the ball and dribbled it around the court, his sleeves rolled up and his bangs sticking to the sweat on his forehead “Only with you.” He winked, making you act as if you were about to gag.

“Do you think I’ll be able to enter the college’s basketball team?” He asked, his voice sounding a little too serious for his usual playful character.

“We still have two months to think about college,” You frowned. “Let me live my summer without any thoughts.” Heeseung chuckled and threw the ball at you, which you caught before it landed on your face.

“I know,” He caught the ball you threw back at him “But I truly want to get a scholarship and maybe become a basketball player.” His tone may have been indifferent but his eyes were full of insecurities that could not could not be ignored.

You had been enemy (friend) with Heeseung long enough to know he had two things he deeply cared for: His family and basketball.

He was the High School team captain but hadn’t managed to receive a scholarship to enter the Sports faculty, which meant he had to rely on his own skills and money.

That wasn’t a problem, you know his family would always support his dreams, but there was something that Heeseung did not tell you about. You had a feeling, however you didn’t want to assume things. He’d tell you when he felt like it.

Your expression softened, you jumped off the railing and moved closer to him, stealing the ball from his hands, that he let you do, and taking a shot.

The ball entered the basket, making you smile proudly “You’re the best player I know, Heeseung.” You said honestly, nudging his shoulder with yours. The ball bounced back to you and you scooped it from the floor, placing a hand that signalled to Heeseung to wait there.

You rushed to your bags and took something he couldn’t see. He waited patiently, following all your movements.

You turned around and showed him what you did— holding out his basketball ball with a smiley face drawn on it “You just have to believe it too.” The smile on your lips matched with the ball’s one, but yours shone brighter. Heeseung felt a warm feeling spread all over his chest, something tickling his heart.

“Not as good as me.” You smirked playfully, taking another shot that missed the basket “Cause at least I fail gracefully.”

Heeseung shook his head, his lips curling into a small grin “You free tomorrow evening?” He suddenly asked and you quickly replied “Not at all.”

Heeseung knitted his brows “Why?” You sat back on the railing “The new season of ‘One Tree Hill’ is airing, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

He reached for you, taking the new-styled ball in his hands and rolling it “Not even if I said I’ll buy you Twizzlers?” You pondered a little but then shook your head “Nah ah.”

“Damn.” Heeseung sighed, “I’ll watch it with you, then.”

You blinked faintly “You called my series trash yesterday.” Heeseung nodded “Well, they are.” He hopped on the railing beside you “But when I become the best basketball player in the world, I won’t be able to spend much time with you.”

You smiled, noting how he said ‘when’ and not ‘if’ “Finally some time away from you.” Heeseung faked being offended “I’ll say on national TV that you were about to sabotage my career.” You laughed “I’ll be making prayers for your downfall.”

You both laughed at whatever, teasing each other but knowing when to stop not to upset the other.

“Eight PM, tomorrow?” Heeseung questioned, “I don’t want you in my house.” You answered, laughing “I’ll climb the window.” You immediately shook your head, knowing he could manage to do it, because he had tried once “Fine, loser. Roast beef for dinner, take it or leave it.”

Heeseung smirked, biting his bottom lip “Not you as a meal?” You widened your eyes, pushing him off the railing “What the hell.”

“Ouch—“ He fell flat on the floor, “That hurt.” You wiggled your brows “Serves you right.”

“Oh yeah?” He said, tone flirty as he took the ball and hit you hard with it, making you fall “How dare you!” You started chasing after him while he ran away.

If anyone saw you from afar, they’d think you were two people madly in love with each other… and you were.

You just hadn’t realised it yet.

⪩⪨

“You wanted to become a basketball player?” Jia asked, her voice filled with sleepiness, but she wanted to know how the story continued, so she fought her eyes open.

“Yes dear,” Heeseung placed a featherlight kiss on Jia’s hair. “I played basketball and was the best player in the world— or so Y/N thought.”

“But you don’t play anymore.” She stated and Heeseung shook his head in response “No, I don’t.” Jia yawned softly “Why?”

He sighed sadly, gulping down “Before I went to college, my mother passed away.” Heeseung held Jia a little tighter “She had leukaemia, which is a very bad thing,” He explained easily so that his daughter could understand “And I needed stability, I needed something that basketball couldn’t bring me.”

Jia looked up at him “And what could?”

“Your mother.”

⪩⪨

You couldn’t believe you learned about it two days later. That day was the date of the funeral and you weren’t by Heeseung’s side. Truth to be told, you tried to reach for him a lot in the past few days, but his brother either shrugged you off or didn’t even answer the door.

You thought you did something wrong, but it turned out his mother died due to the illness that had been haunting her for over a year.

You should’ve realised it, you should be by his side, giving him the strength he needed to get through it. Which was why you were running despite the pouring rain, trying to reach the location of the funeral.

You didn’t care if you were going to be sick the next day, your fixed thought was Heeseung and just him.

Heeseung, on the other hand, had been painfully quiet and shut down. He hasn’t comprehended yet that he was going to live the rest of his life without his dear mother, facing the troubles and sufferings of adulthood alone.

The whole room was packed with relatives he had never known about, all giving him pity glances and condolences he didn’t need. He just wanted his mother back.

Sighing, he went outside to have some time alone. As soon as he stepped outside, the cold breeze hugged his body, making him shiver. The rain made his suit wet but he didn’t really care— maybe it would take the pain away with its drain.

He stared at the night sky, the moon and the stars watching him back, probably feeling pity for him too.

His heart was heavy and black, full of grief and sorrow. He just wished you were there to make it better. You always did.

Your smile, your playfulness, your sharp tongue. He liked everything about you, even your ugliest flaw.

As he was trying to fill his dull mind with the thought of you, he saw something rushing in the streets, towards his directions.

The figure kept coming closer and closer until a familiar face was lightened from the lightbulb.

There he saw you, standing under the pouring rain, looking ever so dreamlike. There was a moment where you both just studied each other’s faces, as if you hadn’t seen each other in forever— which felt like it.

Just a couple of days without you made him realise how important you are, how much he needed you. No words were exchanged, there was no necessity, you hurried your steps toward him and hugged him, your embrace so warm in contrast with the cold weather.

Heeseung let out a sob and then another until he was crying ugly on your chest, all the tears he wasn’t able to shed until that day. You rubbed soothing circles on his chest, gripping him tightly, afraid that he would shatter right there.

“W-Why..” He weeped, his voice breaking from the trembling of his lips, due to both the cold and his crying “It— It was too early.. Why her?”

You let him rumble nonsense, knowing how heartbroken and sad he was, you just held him through the pain, hoping to at least relieve some “I know, but I am here now, I won’t leave you.”

Heeseung looked up at you, his eyes glossy, his whole body soaked and nose reddened. Perfect regardless. You stared at him, afraid that if you blinked he would disappear, and he seemed to be thinking the same thought.

You placed your hands on both his cheeks, your thumb rubbing them. Heeseung gulped down, his long lashes and bambi eyes enchanting you, so mesmerising.

You didn’t know what you were doing until you felt his hot breath hit your skin, like one of Jupiter's satellites orbiting around him, getting closer and closer to him.

And then, like a crashing wave, your lips found each other into a gentle and soft kiss, his hands raising to brush against the nape of your neck.

You let out a sigh in his mouth, his hand grasping the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss. It was an anchor that he needed, something not to give up for. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his body flush to yours, both of you warming the other, protecting from the darkness of the world.

He was the first to pull away, his lips swollen as he stared at you “You don’t know how much I waited for this.” He whispered, shaking his head to emphasise his words. Your whole body trembled under his touch, his expression filling with worry “Are you cold? We should—“

You shushed him by reattaching your lips together, only one kiss not enough to calm down the desire, “No,” you murmured on his lips “You just make me feel so much it’s overwhelming.” He let out a small sigh, nodding as if to say he felt the same. His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his throat, every best spelling your name.

“Thank you for coming,” He whispered and you smiled at him “You know I wouldn’t leave you alone even if I were a ghost— Sorry!” You exclaimed, realising it was not the best time to bring up the conversation you had at the skating rink.

To your surprise, Heeseung laughed out loud and pressed his lips on your brow, ever so caring “Please, don’t ever lose it.”

Puzzled, you asked “Lose what?” Heeseung smiled, “The spark that makes you, you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his gaze intense as he studied those same features he knew by heart. You grinned back “If I had a packet of Twizzlers, I’d give you the last one.”

Heeseung bit his bottom lip, not able to hide the way his lips curled upwards everytime he was with you. “If I had a packet of Rolos, I’d give you the last one.”

⪩⪨

“You kissed mommy?” Jia’s voice grew softer every passing minute “Yes— but you can’t let a person kiss you until you’re eighteen, understood?”

“Why?” She asked, playing with the arms of her purple teddy bear “Because I say so.”

“Is the story finished?” Jia questioned with another yawn, as much as she wanted to hear more, her eyelids were becoming heavier

“I’ll make it quick,” Heeseung started, massaging Jia’s arm. “Mommy and I started dating after that kiss, it wasn’t official because none of us was truly ready, but we both knew what we had was magical.” He smiled within himself.

“Then, we graduated from college and I proposed to her,” Jia’s heart-lips opened to resemble an ‘o’ “With a ring?” Heeseung dipped “Yes, with a ring as beautiful as her.”

“It was an engagement ring, we made a promise to marry after university, and as soon as we got our degrees, we prepared for the big celebration— Your mother looked so perfect by the altar.”

Jia smiled sleepily, imagining how beautiful her mother must’ve looked with the wedding dress on, all candid and white “Like a queen?” Heeseung placed a kiss on her hair “Like a queen.”

“And a couple of years later, we had you.” He smiled happily. Heeseung was so satisfied with his life, and even if he had to give basketball up, he felt like he gained more. He had a beautiful wife, always by his side and a perfect daughter he’d protect with all his might (and probably throw slippers at her boyfriend’s too). His heart never felt so full of love and affection, he was accomplished.

“But the ending…“ He turned around to finish his sentence just to see Jia had fallen asleep, her breaths shallow and calm. He tugged her better under the covers, standing up from the small bed, feeling a little sore but joyful “…Still has to be written.”

He placed another featherlight kiss on her daughter’s forehead, whispering a gentle “Good night.” Before exiting the room.

He closed the door behind her back, hurrying downstairs with light steps. Heeseung saw you were still fast asleep on the couch. He removed the blanket from your figure and hooked his arms behind your neck and knees, scooping you from it.

You blinked your eyes open, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck “Hee?” You murmured, your voice laced with sleep.

“Hey, love.” He nudged his nose with your cheek “Time to get to bed.” You hummed, snuggling closer, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Heeseung opened the door to your bedroom with his foot and slowly placed you down on the mattress. You opened your eyes again, staring at him through your half-lids “Jia?” Heeseung smiled reassuringly. “She’s sleeping, just finished telling her a story.”

He laid down beside you, wrapping the cover over your two figures, he shifted closer to you, holding you close “What story?” You asked, your voice hoarse “Just the best story ever.” He placed a sweet kiss on the corner of your lips

“By the way, I’m a better storyteller than you.” He bragged and you scoffed “Liar.”

“Maybe,” He chuckled, wrapping both his arms around your body “But do you know one thing I never lie about?”

You shook your head “I’d give you my last Rolo.” You smiled, he could feel it on his chest “I’d give you my last Twizzler too.”

[⪩⪨] END.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! REBLOG (and like) AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS !

#enhypen #enhypen fics #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #heeseung fics #heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung scenarios #lee heeseung scenarios #lee heeseung fluff #heeseung fluff #heeseung one shot #lee heeseung one shot #enhypen one shot #heeseung oneshot #lee heeseung oneshot #heeseung enhypen #lee heeseung enhypen

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ifwdominicfike · 22 days ago

Text

spencer seems to be more interested in his crossword puzzle than his own girlfriend.

── .✦. ──

a week he was gone. a whole week on a case — and the first thing he does when he gets home is his stupid crossword puzzle. is he serious right now?? when he came through the door you were met with his disheveled, tired figure.

he dragged his way over to couch, settling in the corner with a news paper in hand and a focused expression. you missed him bad, you wanted to run your way over to him and kiss his pretty, pouty lips.

its been almost an hour and he’s still sitting there, making it seem like you weren’t even home. you did try to get his attention but you were only met with dry responses like a simple yes, no or a tired hum. “baby y’want anything to eat? i can order your favoriteee” you drag out the word to break the awkward silence. “no im okay” he mumbled before going back to his paper.

you scoff at his obliviousness, is he doing this on purpose or is he really that dumb? you roll your eyes as you flop down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling for about 10 minutes until you got bored once again. you huff out a breath before making your way to the living room.

peaking around the corner to see if he was still there or not — he was. you make your way towards him, plopping down on the couch. you let out an exaggerated sigh while resting your head on his shoulder, looking up at him as he’s still focused on the puzzle. “whats wrong?” he asks, his gaze finally shifting to you.

“just missed you s’all” you begin shuffle around getting up from the couch. “but you seem to be busy so i’ll go back to the ro-“ your cut off by spencer grabbing your wrist and lightly pulling you back. “woah woah, where y’going?” he asks confused. “going back to the room? don’t you have your crossword to finish, old man?” once you’re out of his hold you make your way back to the room.

“baby come on don’t be like that-“ he stops when he finds you “asleep” cuddled in the comforter. “i know you’re not asleep” you hear the smirk in his tone but you don’t make it known that you’re awake. “come on sweet girl, m’sorry” he slips under the sheets and pulls you against his chest “please? i’ll make it up to you, okay?” he continues, you couldn’t take not talking to him so you swiftly turn around and straddle his lap.

“woah-“ before he could get another word out you shush him by putting a finger against his lips “no more talking love, just need you..” you duck down and bring your lips to his, his hands for your hips as he smiles into the kiss. “fuck- i love you”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

first spencer fic!!! i love this man sooo much ughhahsjsj you would have to pry this man from my cold dead hands. anyway!! i hope you enjoy <33 @her-favorite tagging you since you LOVE this man as much as i do 😽😽

also lmk if you would like to be put onto my spencer taglist!! and lmk if you don’t wanna be tagged in spencer fics and only in sturniolo fics :P (or if you’re fine with being in both 😭)

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem

#— ⋆ ˚｡ writings .ᐟ ꩜#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds

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httpscomexe · 2 months ago

Text

Double Trouble

Day 1 of Kink-Tober - Double Penetration

Summary: You never listen on missions, and you’re not too sure that the punishment from your two best friends would change that at all.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Arson, violence, fire, language, pv smut, fingering, oral, kind of non-con, forced sex if you squint, double pen (Lmk if I missed any)

Tags: @cellyx33

Word Count: (Find my Kink-Tober list here) 2769

P.S. If you would like to be added to the Kink-Tober tag list, just let me know.

“Investigators are still unsure of what has caused this explosion, but the accident is leading to an arsenic attack. There are no known motives leading to the fire, which officials believe was more of an attack with intended murder.

Only one body was found in the fire, a sixty-three year old man. After a quick look up, the police force discovered he was wanted for tax evasion along with seven other crimes that are punishable by death, including human trafficking, and other triggering activities.

The man went by the name “Firehouse,” ironic considering the situation, and his government issued name has been identified as “Donald Pastry Newsont.” If anyone has any information involving the situation, please call…”

“This shits annoying.” Bucky grumbles, reaching over to turn off the radio.

“Hey I was gonna call that number!” You joke in the back seat, sliding the thick fireproof pants off of your waist and onto the floor.

“Very funny, Y/N.” Steve, the driver, keeps his eyes on the road, but you occasionally see his eyes move to the mirror facing the middle backseat where you were.

“What? I have information on it.”

“We weren’t supposed to cause an explosion.” Bucky rubs circles on his temples. Annoyed by you. Yea. You weren’t supposed to blow up the house, but you couldn’t help it.

“I know that, but it was an accident.”

“You are literally wearing an entire fucking fireproof outfit.” Steve slams his hand on the wheel, a little more aggressively than he means to.

“Language Stevie.” You mumble, taking off the jacket part of your outfit.

“Can’t you take that off when we get to the damned hotel?”

“It’s like super hot.” You complain to Bucky, throwing the last of the articles of clothing on the floor before removing the long piece of ribbon from your ponytail that was holding your hair together, which you tie around your wrist. “Y’all are just jealous you don’t have fireproof gear.” You taunt, leaning forward as you rest your arms on the shoulders of their chairs.

“We ALL have fireproof suits. And we would’ve brought them if we knew you were going to start a fucking fire.” Bucky turns around, his face inches from yours.

“Oh come on. It was cool.”

“Yea, it was totally so cool when you zipped up your outfit before throwing the match on the ground and I barely had two seconds before the shit blew up to put my shield in front of me.” He turns the car, taking a right onto a one way street.

“Sorry, I just-”

“No.” Bucky cuts in, facing you again. His look is serious. You knew he didn’t like you disobeying what they tell you for missions this important. But this time they were both angry. Normally, it would just be Bucky, or just Steve. So you know you fucked up.

“You two bring up the bags, I’ll get the key.” Steve nods towards you and Bucky after putting the car in park. “And let's actually follow orders this time. Okay?” He asks, sarcastically.

You nod, getting out of the car with an annoyance in your step as you cover your body with crossed arms. The uniform you were wearing was more like lingerie. Normally it wouldn’t bother you around the two people you feel most comfortable with, but when they are mad, it only makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. So you follow behind Bucky, carrying your own bag of clothes while he carries his own and Steves, the elevator ride uncomfortably silent as Steve gets the key to the room. Leaving you alone with Bucky as you both stand at the door to the room. Not a single word to be spoken.

You look up at him, his eyes focused on the screen of his phone as his thumb scrolls along the device, little images moving through his blue eyes tells you he’s scrolling through someone's Instagram profile. You look down at his left hand, his metal thumb hooked into the pocket of his jeans as he stands there, staring at his phone, a pissed look still visible on his face.

Then you hear footsteps, causing both of you to turn your head to also pissed off Steve Rogers, the room key between his index and middle finger.

“A little quiet. Are you guys suddenly mortal enemies?” He jokes, scanning the key on the hotel door before holding the door open for you and Bucky.

“Why talk to her when she doesn’t even listen?” Bucky asks, rhetorically. Then he throws the bags of clothes down, crouching over to take out some clothes. “Who wants to shower first?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Let her shower first. She was wearing that thick suit. I'm sure enough she smells like shit.” Steve crouches next to Bucky, also grabbing his clothes.

You open the door to the bedroom, taking one step in before stopping and looking down at the two best friends. “Hey, who’s sleeping where?”

“There’s two beds. You get one bed, we share the other-”

“There’s only one bed.” You interrupt Steve, his eyebrows squinting in confusion. “There should be two, are you sure?”

“Well unless I’m blind or forgot how to count, yes, I’m sure.” He stands up with Bucky, both of them looking into the room. One king sized bed.

“Well shit. I’ll go down to the office.” Bucky tells you both, then leaves without another word.

“If they can’t get a two bedroom for us then you and Bucky take the bed. The couch will be too small for you both.” You offer.

“The bed will be uncomfortable for you.”

“I’ve slept on the floors.”

“Correction. You’ve tried to sleep on the floors.” He looks down at you, your arms crossing over your stomach in a sort of challenge. “Fine. We can take the bed if he can’t find another room.” He sighs, walking back over to his bags on the floor. “Go ahead and start your shower though.” He groans as he throws himself onto the couch and stretches as you head to the bathroom, setting the water warm before getting undressed and stepping into the shower. The water falling mutes the sound of Bucky coming back in. You couldn’t understand a word he said, but he sounded annoyed. So you assume there isn’t another room.

When you’re done, you step out. The smell of your lavender shampoo and bodywash filling the air as you wrap a towel around your hair and dry your body before dressing into your short Captain America pyjamas and your thin black top with a red star on the chest, not wanting to throw on a bra or panties, you step out and put the two back in your bag on the floor, missing the looks that Bucky and Steve give you, also missing the look and nod they give each other.

“Hey, Y/N.” You look up to Steve's voice. “I don’t want to report your actions.” He stands from the couch and walks over to you until you have to bend your neck to look up at him. “I don’t like you getting in trouble for disobeying simple orders. But you have to be punished in some way.”

“Please don’t report it…” You beg a little, Bucky moving up behind Steve as they stand shoulder to shoulder. “Another report and I’m back to being a desk agent.” You whine a little.

“Which would really suck, wouldn’t it?” Bucky's eyes stare straight into yours, some hidden darkness concealed behind his pupil, you nod urgently.

“Then how should you learn your lesson?” Steve takes another step closer, his hand reaching up to push some hair behind your ear. “You have to learn somehow.”

“You need to be punished, Y/N.” Bucky whispers harshly, his left hand resting on your waist suddenly as your hands move to your stomach, the entire interaction making you nervous as you start to pick at your skin.

“I feel like you’re both implying the same thing right now…” Your voice is quiet, any louder and it would crack. “But I uh… Want conformation on what exactly-”

“I think the three of us should all share the bed, what do you think?”

You’re silent for a moment.

Your jaw clenching shut as his words shock you slightly, emitting a chuckle from Steve's throat. “What’s wrong baby, cat got your tongue?” You practically feel your eyes enlarge at his nickname.

Baby…

“Steve I don’t-”

“Enough talking. Get on the bed.” Bucky demands, his eyes leaving no room for argument as Steve begins walking you backwards until the back of your knees find the bed, Bucky gently pushing you to sit down before they both begin removing their shirts, and you scoot back a little. Debating whether or not you want this, your thighs clamped shut.

“Top or bottom?” Steve asks Bucky, nodding towards him.

“Top. You get the bottom.” He tells him, undoing his pants in front of you as Bucky already has his unzipped and unbuttoned, the tent in his boxers obvious as he crawls onto the bed, pulling you into his lap, facing away from him and you watch Steve get onto the bed. Sitting on his knees in front of you.

“Open up.” He tells you, gently slapping the side of your thigh before reaching forward and hooking his fingers through your shorts, quickly pulling them off. You immediately squeeze your thighs tighter. Wishing you could lock them shut. You try to speak, but your lips are locked in place of your thighs. “I said open the fuck up.” He demands this time, his large hands placed on both thighs, gripping your flesh carefully.

“Steve I don’t want-” Your voice cracks as he shuts you up with his own words.

“Shut up.” He grumbles, then forces your thighs open, a gasp coming from your lips as you feel the cold air against your heat. “Such a pretty pussy…”

He leans down, and only then do you realise Bucky has his arms around your stomach, keeping you still as he leans forward, kissing and biting the skin on your neck.

You moan, the feeling of Steve's beard against your sensitive flesh making your eyes roll as his tongue and teeth work diligently, two of his fingers eventually finding their way inside of you in place of his tongue when he begins to thrust his digits against your walls.

“Good girl…” Bucky whispers into your ear, biting your lobe before resuming his marks on your throat, one of his hands snaking down to find your clit, and he begins to rub circles around the bud, your eyes only enlarging.

You want to say something. To push them away. But you feel numb, like their touch was a drug that paralyzed you from head to toe, apart from the rocking of your hips as you seek more of Steve's touch, the feelings of both of their touch sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“S-Steve…” You moan, his face still buried in your cunt as he eats you out, his fingers curling to massage your g-spot, a hum from his throat sending vibrations through your body. “Bucky…” You whimper, and Barnes’ teeth bite your skin harder, his fingers massaging your clit. The feelings driving you crazy… “Feels… so good…” You whisper, trying not to moan too loudly.

“Come for us baby… Let Steve taste your sweet pussy…” Bucky's voice soothes your thoughts as he brings his two fingers up, sticking them between your lips as he lets you purse your lips around his digits, tasting yourself on his skin was just another reason to throw your head back against his shoulder, his lips moving down to bite your neck as you come, Steves hands gripping your thighs tighter as he feels your gummy walls clench around his own fingers, your juices coating his beard as he lets you ride out your orgasm.

“Good fucking girl…” Steve groans, sitting back up on his knees, keeping your legs apart as he slaps your pussy, drawing another moan from your lips before you feel Bucky's hands move between your bodies, then his dick is against your ass, making your back involuntarily arch away, but then your eyes land on Steve's cock, which was also removed from his boxers while you were looking away.

Boy did that serum do something for him. His size was unrealistic. There was no way he would be able to fit that thing inside of you. Ever.

“Look at her. Panting like a fucking dog and we haven’t even fucked her yet.” You feel Bucky's hand come up and close your mouth, his fingers resting under your jaw before he presses a kiss to your cheek. “So fucking hot…” He mumbles, then he grips your waist, pulling you back as he leans back. You were sure enough he was just as big as Steve. “You ready?” He asks, lifting you slightly to position you over his cock, Steve staring with a shit eating grin.

You don’t even answer, but he slowly lowers you down, the intrusion making you bite your lip, your eyes rolling in pleasure as Steve situates himself between your legs, leaning forward to press kisses to your throat, his thumb rubbing your clit as the feeling becomes unbearable. You’ve never done anything like this before.

Fuck.

You’ve never done anything.

“Take a deep breath…” Steve tells you. “This might hurt…” He warns, attempting to push two of his fingers inside of you, but of course, they don’t fit. Bucky’s cock already stretching you to the limit. “Fuck… So tight.” He groans, then forces the two fingers inside of you, making your hips jerk, a yelp coming from your lips which is quickly silenced by Bucky’s hand covering your throat as Steves fingers slowly move in and out of you, eventually adding a third finger as he stretches you open, Bucky’s soft lips on your neck distracting you as Steve moves closer, his free hand moving to stroke his shaft.

“Breathe for me baby…” He whispers again, this time his breath fanning over your skin as he positions himself between your legs, his hand between your bodies as he aligns the tip of his dick with your filled centre. “Just breathe…” He tells you one more time, then he slowly pushes forward, barely getting in the tip before the mix of a moan and scream come muffled behind Bucky’s palm, but Steve doesn’t stop. He keeps pushing. And he pushes until he can’t anymore.

“Told you she could fit us both.” Bucky mumbles, and Steve begins to slowly move. Your sounds are still muffled by the hand over your mouth, which quickly turns from painful moans to pleasurable crying. “And she’s behaving so well…” He groans, the feeling of Steve's cock moving against his driving him crazy.

Steve moves faster, his hands squeezing your thighs, and their groans indicate they’re both holding back. Steve's rough touch, and Bucky’s biting and kissing your skin as your moans fill the room. Loud enough you’re surprised no one else could hear.

“So fucking perfect…”

“Such a perfect little pussy…”

“Love the little sounds she makes…”

“Isn’t she perfect?”

All fall on your deft ears, your brain ringing, your eyes trying to close as your energy leaves your body. You couldn’t think about anything.

The lips of Bucky on your skin and the feeling of Stevies cock moving inside of you, along with the feeling of Bucky’s cock being right beside his was enough to make your pupils turn your eyes black, the moans stopping and your body convulsing under Steve and above Bucky as you’re about to come again. It was the fifth time this night, or maybe sixth? You didn’t know anymore, you’d lost track of them after the second.

When they are done, Steve pulls out first, followed by Bucky, both of them watching as a string of cum drops from your stretched hole, Steve's fingers moving to gently push it back inside of you before cleaning his fingers with your lips.

“You did so good…” He tells you, but you hardly hear it as your body struggles to stay awake.

“She did amazing…” Bucky tells him from behind as his fingers begin to gently massage your thighs. “So good we don’t have to report her…”

“You look tired…” Steve gently pushes some of the mess of your hair behind your ear. An act that was innocent before but now felt like it would always be hidden behind some dark intent. “Too bad we aren’t done…”

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