#ends up with me can’t stop thinking about it

[arina24]

Reprise

LE SSERAFIM Kazuha x M Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut

10k words

You’ve always loved the carnival. The yellow lights splash across the land like streaks of fire, growing ever more alluring the closer you get. The Ferris wheel is the first to appear—giant, unmistakable. Then the merry-go-round with the painted horses comes into view. Nearby, a huge tent hides the mirror maze underneath.

When you’re right up there, the stalls selling popcorn and potato snacks pop up, filling the evening air with salt and warmth. Maybe you’re a little too old for most of the rides now, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s about how it makes you feel, right?

You thought you’d noticed all the highlights on your way there. But something still feels just out of sight, like the memory is yet to fully take shape.

Then you see. You’d missed something—no, someone important. She might just be the most important attraction here for you.

You don’t remember your childhood best friend being this beautiful.

Your gaze locks onto Kazuha, wearing a sporty white crop top and a baseball cap. Fits the theme. Her jet-black hair dances in the wind, but never blocks her view as she aims a long air rifle at the board of balloons—a fierce look in her eyes.

And when dawn breaks, she’ll disappear, like the carnival itself. Again.

“Still awful at aiming, huh?” Your voice catches her off-guard as she’s reloading for a second try.

She turns sharply—bullets slip from her fingers and roll towards you. You promptly stop them with your feet. “Careful, butterfingers,” you add as you bend to pick them up.

Her eyes stare at you for a moment, flickering with something unreadable, before going back to the natural cockiness you’ve always seen her sport.

She snatches the bullets out of your palm with a scoff. “Not awful. I was compensating for the wind—it changed direction at the last second.”

“Right,” you reply, amused.

“And someone I haven’t seen in years randomly shows up? I think some shock is warranted.”

She takes another shot. This one almost hits the operator a few feet away from the target.

“You know you’re supposed to hit the balloons, right?” You gesture to the board. “Let me have a try before you end up hitting some poor kid around here.”

Kazuha grits her teeth at that comment. As competitive as ever.

“I’m going for the harder balloons at the back. They keep moving.” She puts all her focus on this shot—posture adjusted, wind analyzed and eyes narrowed.

The bullet flies, and this time, hits her target. The balloon pops with a loud crack, startling some kids nearby.

“Yes!” She punches the air. The operator hands over a big teddy bear to her. Kazuha flips you the finger with a smug smile, hugging the bear to her chest.

“You still have a couple bullets left,” someone reminds her. She reaches for the gun—but before her hand can get close, you quickly pick it up. You point it at the same area she was aiming at and fire off two quick shots in succession. Both hit your target, much to her visible displeasure.

Two plushies for you. You turn towards Kazuha and hold them up in mock triumph, taking in the spite written all over her face. It only makes you feel warmer inside.

“Being the gentleman I am.” You offer her both the bears. “I will let the lady have her prizes.”

She rolls her eyes at that and gives the bears to some kid roaming around. He snatches them from her hands and runs away, without so much as a thank you.

A woman nearby, likely his mother, stops and chides the kid. “Go on, thank the nice lady. You can’t be rude like that.”

“Yeah, thank the nice lady who couldn’t win a single thing till I showed up,” you whisper into Kazuha’s ear. She endures the lecture with a tight, polite smile.

”No, no, it’s completely alright. I know how kids can be sometimes.” She grabs your wrist as an excuse and pulls you away with her.

Soon enough, the pair annoying her disappear from view. ”I hate kids,” she mutters, not realizing she can let go of your wrist now.

“That’s funny.” You let her lead. “Because the last time I saw you, you were one.”

Evening slowly dips into night, and more and more lights are being switched on. Kazuha adjusts her cap, tying her hair back with a rubber band. Her perfectly fitting crop top slides up a little as she raises her arms, revealing more of her toned midriff. But the view is fleeting—her hands drop back down, searching for your wrist before she notices she doesn’t need to hold you anymore.

The smell of burnt sugar and frying oil thickens as more stalls open up. Laughter from kids on nearby rides echoes through the air. You’ve walked these places with Kazuha before. But the way her fingers brush her wrist now—you hope, maybe it was yours she was reaching for.

You get the lightest feeling you're seeing her differently this time.

“Gosh it’s been…” She tries to count the years, but gives up. “Forever. Didn't even know if you were alive. Or if you offed yourself for losing to me in too many games.”

“You could’ve known, you know, if you ever bothered to reach out after disappearing.”

She ignores that comment. You want to press again, but the night is just getting started. Maybe you'll get your answers later. Maybe. But for now, you'll let it slide.

“Speaking of games in which you lose to me—” She stops, revealing where she’s been leading you: a big toy hammer leaning against a massive target, and a tower of numbers climbing all the way up to 1000.

You know you’ve been had.

“Remember this?” she asks with a cheeky grin—planned all along.

“Clear as day.” You deadpan.

“Thought I'd give you one last chance to try and beat me.”

The sting of losing to her all those years ago suddenly feels fresh and piercing. There's no way you're still worse than her at this, right? You are a grown man now, and she’s just a girl.

“Loser has to buy the other marshmallows, same rules,” she continues, sweetly. You curse yourself under your breath. You’ve given her way too much money in this stupid game.

“Fine. Who goes first?” You pick up the hammer, feeling its weight.

”Since it’s already in your hand, I’ll let you go ahead, gentleman.” She hands over some change to the operator nearby.

You cannot let her beat you. Not again. Not this time.

You take two practice swings. Grip firm. Stance solid. Hammer lined up dead-center. This can’t go wrong. On the third swing, you go for it, hitting it hard with a satisfying thump which makes the marker shoot up. It races past the initial numbers, and your heart kicks up with it. Maybe this is it. Maybe this time you finally win.

To your dismay, the pace drops rapidly near the top. 800, 850, 900, and the marker comes to rest at 950. One square away from a 1000.

“Not bad.” She almost seems genuine—then the corners of her lips slowly curl up. “But clearly, there’s room for improvement.”

“Oh, cut it out, Zuha. No way you’re making 1000.”

She doesn’t respond right away, picking up the mallet and trying to block out the crowd noise. Her fingers curl around the handle, and that familiar smirk returns. No practice strikes for Kazuha—she’s going all in. But just as she’s about to bring the hammer down, her foot catches on a rock. The swing goes wide, and the hammer almost slips out of her hand.

You burst into laughter, but she’s unfazed. She takes another swing, making sure her feet are clear this time. The sound the button makes is enough to cut through your laughter and let you know she’s smacked it.

The marker shoots up again, and it’s hard to tell if it’s faster than yours. The pace drops like it did for you: 850, 900, 950—and then it ekes out a slow, grinding climb to a perfect 1000.

Not again.

”Streak still alive. Guess you just lost a strength game to a girl, again.” Not trying to be subtle today.

Her arms don’t look remotely like they pack that much power. They’re long, slender, and smooth—not the kind that throws down 1000s like it’s nothing.

What does she even do to be so strong? Although it’s weirdly attractive in a way you don’t quite know how to explain. You don’t know how to explain a lot of things about her tonight—her eyes sparkle with the reflections of the lights surrounding you, and if you stare into the golden streaks in them long enough, it’s almost enough for you to feel something.

Though that could just be the nostalgia talking, you argue.

You have no choice but to add to the already large amount Kazuha has looted from you in this game.

“The lady in the food stall is still the same.” She dips a marshmallow into the chocolate dip and nibbles on it.

“Maybe she loves—” A running kid bumps into Kazuha, pushing her off balance. Her chocolate spills all over your fingers.

“You little shit!” you shout, but he’s long gone already. You steady her with your clean hand. “You okay? Didn’t knock the wind out of you or anything?”

“No, I’m alright.” She brushes herself off. “Was the same kid from before. I suppose this is what I get for trying to give him some teddy bears.”

“Did earn him a lecture.” You hold up your fingers, showing them coated in her dip. “He made my hand a mess too.”

“Well, can’t let my hard-earned snacks go to waste now.” She pops a marshmallow into her mouth and lifts your fingers to her plush lips. She pauses for a second, then slides them into her mouth, sucking the chocolate off like it’s an everyday occurrence.

In her defense, it could have passed for one. A few years back. But right now, it does not feel so everyday to you. Kazuha’s warmth envelops your fingers, savoring the sweetness from you so casually. You hope she doesn’t catch the flush creeping on your face. She’s quick with it—you’re in public after all, but it’s enough to get your pulse racing. Her tongue slips out to lick the remaining off her lower lip.

“Mouth clean?” she asks.

You wish it weren’t (maybe you could have offered to clean it off).

But it is, and you report that truthfully.

You were staring at her face maybe a bit too long—her delicate lips, fierce dark eyes (soft underneath, you know), strands of hair framing her face like she’s a photograph—a moment to be captured, and it’s long enough for Kazuha to notice. She tilts her head, amusement slipping into her eyes.

”All okay? Did I suddenly turn too beautiful for you to take your eyes off me?”

(You have no idea.)

“What—no, no.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting around for an excuse to change the topic. The gigantic rotating structure right behind her catches your eye.

“I was admiring the Ferris wheel behind you. Brilliant architecture, right?” And if your memory serves you right, this might just prove to be the best excuse.

“It’s alright. What’s so brilliant about it?” You can feel her smug exterior crumbling ever so slightly.

“It’s the biggest attraction here and we should definitely go on it once.” (Second biggest.)

“Nuh uh.” She knows your intentions.

“Oh my, the strong and mighty Nakamura Kazuha still pisses her pants at heights.”

“That happened once,” she protests.

“Do you know what happened every time we went on the wheel? You holding—no, crushing my hands and not letting go no matter how much I cried.”

”That won’t happen again, because we aren’t going on it,” she says with an air of finality.

“Can’t believe you’re still afraid of heights.” You shake your head in disappointment.

“I’m not.”

“Then we’re going on it—right now. Even little Zuha wanted to go on the ride. Every single time. Have you really become more of a coward?”

A long sigh leaves her mouth. She’s conflicted, but you can sense the side you’re rooting for is winning the battle.

“Are you gonna hold my hand again when we get to the top?” you ask, waiting in line after getting the tickets.

“Not a chance,” she retorts.

The queue is short, and your turn comes quickly. Kazuha’s denim shorts ride up her thighs as she sits down, and you try not to stare too long. You take your seat next to her in the cramped cabin. The operator pulls the metal bar down with a clang, locking the two of you in place.

The wheel moves a little, then stops for the next passengers to get in.

“The worst part is the loading, really.” She leans forward a bit to look at how far the ground is from her.

After peeking down, she immediately snaps back in place. “Nope, shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

“Hey calm down. Let’s maybe try to talk about something else. What have you been up to? My guess is training to be a professional athlete.”

The wheel is set into motion, and Kazuha breathes again.

“Good guess.” She snorts. “But no. Regular adult life, mostly. Nothing as glamorous as that.”

The wheel stops for the next loading, about halfway up now. You are suspended several dozen feet in the air, feet dangling below. The cart rocks unevenly, making it worse, at times tilting almost perpendicular to the ground. Kazuha’s face is red. She looks like she’s about to throw up.

“Hey, think this is a good time to ask—” She turns to you nervously, voice shaking. ”Are you seeing someone?”

“Not currently, no.”

”So I won’t get jumped by some girl for holding your hand, right?” Her hand slips into yours, palm in palm. She grips you hard—the usual, but you were the one who got her on this time, so you’ll bear it.

“Only if I won’t have to deal with any jealous boyfriends or exes either.” Your other palm moves on top of hers, affirming her grip. She relaxes a little at the touch.

“Boyfriends, no; exes, I’ll trust you to defend yourself if it comes to that.” She rests her head on your shoulder. Her hair falls behind you, brushing softly against the back of your neck.

“Tell me something. If you’re so afraid of heights, why did you want to go on it every time we came here?”

The wheel is moving again, and you’re on the way to the top now.

“Look.” She motions towards what you’re already seeing. The small-town houses look like mere dots across the landscape, none of the buildings tall enough to display any of their features. Rolling green fields surround the town, broken only by the occasional winding road.

Below, the carnival stretches out, cheap decorations and all, but charming in its own right. The striking yellow lights tie it all together. A scene worth the ride.

“I love the view. The town looks absolutely stunning from here.”

“So why'd you just up and leave one day? Seems rather unfair to the town.” (To the town.)

“Because.” She shrugs. “How could anyone be content where they are?”

“Dunno. I could be pretty content staying right here.” You turn, looking into the eyes which effortlessly held your attention the entire evening.

The wheel comes to a slowing halt right at the very top.

“Talking about the view or me?” Her eyes look back at you, pupils dilating in the lush ambient glow around. You could stare into them forever.

“I mean the view—” Your throat tightens. Words stuck in your mouth.

"Is that all you were gonna say?"

“You, you look so beautiful.” You barely manage to get it out.

“Kiss me, then.”

What happens next is a blur. Purely instinctual.

She pulls you in, your lips connecting like opposite poles of a magnet, finally allowed to meet. Your hand wraps around her waist, and her fingers thread through your hair. Her lips are soft and warm—perfect.

There’s still a trace of chocolate from earlier, not that her mouth needs any help being sweet. Her nose brushes slightly against yours, and you keep her lips locked in place, almost like you’re afraid she might disappear again.

A soft whimper leaves your mouth, letting her know how much you’ve wanted this. She tilts your head towards her, finding the perfect angle for you to feel her lips full against yours, her body moving closer. The air between you carries her scent—fresh, floral, sharp.

You wish you could freeze this moment: Kazuha’s lips pressed to yours, the kiss full of everything neither of you could say aloud.

She pulls away for a second, her fingers still tangled in your hair, not willing to let you go. She looks into your eyes, searching for a reaction to what she did.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you like this,” you murmur.

”Feels right.” Her lips part in a soft smile.

You cup her cheeks and pull her back in, her lips crashing onto yours. You aren’t satisfied with one round. You couldn’t be satisfied with a million rounds.

The wheel is back in motion, the cart rocking gently. Neither of you care. In your world, the two of you are still, existing only for each other.

The night is warm; it’s still summer, but there’s a cool breeze flowing through you now. You’re unsure if it’s because of the ride or the released tension. No—it has to be the kiss. Normal breezes don’t feel this freeing.

The rest of the ride passes in a mix of fervent kisses and dodging onlookers whenever the cart dips too low for comfort. Kissing you seems to work better than any antidote for Kazuha’s acrophobia—you don’t hear another complaint from her. All her attention is on you.

Eventually, the ride slows to a stop. You lend her a hand getting off the cart (though she'll deny ever needing help with that). Palm in hers, barrier lifted.

“Next time, maybe I won't have to fight to get you on this thing?”

“Maybe you will.” She steps out of the cart, getting on the trimmed grass with you.

”I’d do a lot worse things to kiss you like that again.”

The lips you just kissed waver into a smile as she sweeps a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Didn’t know you had a flirt in you.”

“You weren’t around for my best years.” The thought reminds you. “You never told me why you left.”

She takes your wrist in her hand and starts walking, going who knows where again. Her eyes drift toward the fields far away, like she could find her answer there if she tried hard enough.

“Not my call, really. Mom wanted a fresh start, I think.” She kicks a stone. It skips past a nearby stall. “Said I'll get more opportunities in a big city. More exposure, yada yada. Probably just excuses.”

Her voice trails off for a second, like she’s holding back the rest. Excuses for what? But instead of continuing, she just keeps walking. You decide to give her space for now.

“So, did you? Got into any new stuff?”

“One or two.” Her gaze drops to her feet.

“Like what?”

“Ballet.”

You break into a smile. “Didn't peg you for a pirouette. All that inhuman strength—and you chose ballet?”

“Shut up. I’m good at it.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna need to see a performance to decide, live.”

She scoffs. “In your dreams.”

The walk keeps going. She pulls you past the stretched-out haunted house and the bumper cars. The carnival music fades, speakers switched off one by one as the night gets deeper.

“Do you have a place in mind, or are you just taking me in circles?”

”We are going somewhere. It’s been waiting since we got here, you’ll see.” She rounds the corner and stops in her tracks. Lifting your hand, she points to the huge tent in front of you. “We're here.”

Mirror maze.

“Why does it feel like you've been calling the shots the whole night and I'm just following you?”

“When have I ever taken a bad decision?”

You don’t even bother with a response, and just look away.

“Come on, you’re really gonna pretend we didn’t have fun here?” Kazuha continues, half-challenging. Truth is, there's a spark in her eyes you'd follow anywhere.

You shrug. “Don’t know. Don’t remember much of this.”

”So the onus is on me to make this memorable for you.” She nods like she’s been expecting this.

“What does that even mean?”

Ignored. You turn to the ticket stand—only to find it shut down.

“Zuha, it’s closed. Guess we’re too late.”

A playful smile creeps on her lips. “Just as planned. Follow me.” She heads to the back of the tent, where there’s no one around. Lifting a loose flap, she pulls you in and lets it fall shut behind you.

Shiny is the first word you’d use to describe the place. Disorienting the second. It feels like you’re in one of those high school physics puzzles: Given k mirrors at various angles, calculate how many images you’ll see. The answer to this one is millions. Millions of yourselves and Kazuhas surround you, some even intersecting at odd angles.

You take a step—only to hit yourself on the head. All the Kazuhas around you grin widely as you rub your forehead.

“Watch and learn,” she says and strides forward. Not an obstacle in her path. Eyes locked ahead, no hesitation, almost like the mirrors themselves part to make way for her.

“Caught that grace? Ballet.”

“If you brought me here just to show off again.” You roll your eyes at her. “I'd rather leave.”

She keeps walking, taking right and left turns at specific spots like she's memorized the entire map. You follow. The way she moves—self-assured, hips swaying ever so lightly—is captivating nonetheless.

Your thoughts spill out before you have a chance to catch them. “Though I’d be content just watching you like this.”

That’s not how you talk to your childhood friend.

A soft laugh slips from her. “I thought you wanted to leave a minute ago. Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to show off. I brought you here to show something, if it still exists…” She taps behind the panel of one of the mirrors. “We're in luck.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Shh.” Her finger brushes your lips—light, deliberate. It lingers there a second longer than it needs to. Your heartbeat stumbles. You want to kiss her fingertips, suck them into your mouth like she did yours, but you don't.

“I know you said you can't recall much. But try jogging your memory, do you remember when we used to play hide-and-seek here?”

You take a look around, and in the reflections, the past becomes clearer. Environmental memory and all.

“Somewhat. Didn’t you always vanish for way too long?”

“Precisely. I'm about to reveal to you where I used to hide.” Kazuha motions with a flair suited for revealing a lifelong secret.

She pulls at a mirror. It gives way to a relatively small space—just enough for the two of you to fit, with a little room to spare. Brown walls, a break from the bright and shine everywhere, make it feel like a private spot made only for you both.

You step in first, Kazuha slips in after you. As she moves past, her chest brushes against your hands—slow, almost like she wants you to touch her. You can hear—no, feel her breathing. Steady. Yours isn’t.

A second later, she's in place. The mirror slides shut behind her, darkness swallowing you both.

“Give it a minute, your eyes will adjust,” she murmurs, her hand settling on your shoulder to steady you. “Unless you’d prefer to feel your way around instead.”

You’re facing each other, backs against opposite walls.

“Is this the first time you’re here with someone?”

She nods. Kazuha’s floral scent hits you stronger now that you’re this close to her. You’re almost scared to breathe her in twice.

Your eyes adjust, just enough to make out her face. You can’t help but admire how gorgeous she is, right there in front of you, even if you can barely see her in the dark.

Almost like she knows what you’re thinking, she stands on her toes to reach a panel behind you. She pushes it open, letting a few rays of light in. They illuminate her face a little, her features even more striking in the dim golden light. The light carves across her cheekbones, emphasizing their sharpness.

And yet, it’s the same Kazuha you’ve seen a million times.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Nobody will. It leads nowhere, I know this maze inside out. We have this place to ourselves.”

Her thighs touch yours as she settles back into place. It’s incredible how sure of herself, confident, she can be even when she can’t see anything. Or maybe it’s because you’re here with her.

“Why are we here?” you ask softly.

“I’m not staying here long.”

Her words land like a stone in your chest. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, you had no idea why she was even here, but it was easy to get lost in the memories with her and pretend this was permanent.

It’s not though, and her words remind you—maybe both, that this night is fleeting. You need to make it count.

She brushes the back of your neck. The warmth of her body is comforting, even in the summer, heating you up. The silence hanging tells you exactly what you have to do.

You cup her cheek and pull her in, lips meeting yours. You slip a hand around her waist, impossibly slender against you. Maybe there was truth to her claims on grace after all.

Her fingers are tangled in your hair again, messier this time—like she wants to show you exactly how much she wants this. Wants you. She pauses for a second, her lips grazing your ear, breath hot on you.

“And when I said you can feel your way around,” Kazuha whispers. “I meant my body too.”

You don’t move at first.

Not because you don’t want to—God, you do—but because this version of her, the one offering herself to you in the dark, feels almost too surreal to touch. Like one wrong move and she’ll vanish. Disappear into thin air. Again.

“You okay?”

You nod. “I just... I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Her fingers find your chin. She tilts it toward her. “I’m here now. So touch me.”

Your hands trace the outline of her figure. You've touched her before—games, scrapes, fights—but never like this. Never with intentions like this. You slide down the curve of her back, her skin damp from the heat, before finally resting on her ass.

Your fingers hang there awkwardly—hesitant, unsure what to do. Kazuha notices. She places her free hand on yours, guiding, and presses your hand into the soft curve of her ass. It’s plump, yielding, and fits perfectly in your palm.

“Feels good?” she asks, voice low.

“Mhm,” you breathe.

Satisfied, her lips return to yours. You squeeze her ass cheeks again. A soft moan escapes her, caught by your mouth before it can go anywhere else.

The tip of your tongue grazes her lips, asking for entry. And her lips part willingly. Your tongue slides against Kazuha’s in her mouth—hungry, slick, and deep.

For once in her life, she’s happy to lose to you. Her tongue submits to yours, letting you savor her mouth at your own pace.

Her hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of your hardness, already heavy against your pants. She cups it with her palm, groping, gently stroking through the cloth. It only makes you harder. Throbbing. And a grunt slips out at how she's touching you.

She tugs at your pants, asking for more. You grab her wrist and lift it away.

“My turn.”

Her brow lifts slightly, but the corners of her mouth curl in approval. “Someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

You sink to your knees, planting kisses on the abs you've seen all night, but never really admired how fit they are. Tight, slim, built to be shown off, worshipped. And worship them you will, tasting her skin with your tongue, licking across her midriff. Her skin has a hint of salt, sweat glistening under the light, but she still manages to taste sweet.

“Can we at least take my shorts off?” she huffs.

You look up, meeting her eyes. “We've got all night.”

Still, you decide not to torture her further. You unzip her denim shorts and slide it down in one fluid motion. Her black panties greet you, fabric stretched over the shape of her lips, outline clear. You only need one touch to feel how drenched she is, and it’s immediately clear why she needed them off.

Her inner thighs are a creamy, milky white, tempting you to taste more of her. You start with kisses, then drag your tongue slowly over her soft skin. Her flavor is stronger on her thighs, more intense, addicting. You can't get enough.

Her muscles tense beneath your tongue, and Kazuha's fingers weave into your hair. Every flick of your tongue leaves her trembling, you're getting closer, but never close enough. She shifts her body, trying to press down on you, wanting something you won't quite give her.

It’s not like her to beg for anything. You’d probably laugh if someone told you she ever did. But now, for the first time, you hear her beg. Kazuha herself, whispering for release.

“Please.”

Your hands reach behind her and pull her panties down. Her pussy presents itself for you—bare, pink folds slick with a mix of sweat and arousal. Your tongue finishes its ascent, giving her core a long, slow lick. She whimpers, so satisfied. She’s warm, the heat on your tongue telling you just how much she’s been holding back.

Her grip tightens in your hair, urging you closer.

But you tease her instead, giving slow, deliberate licks—agonizingly gentle. You love how each moan slips out in rhythm with your touch, music only you get to hear.

“Someone might hear us,” you murmur, fully aware you’re the reason they might.

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Let them, then. Feels too—fuck, good.”

She gets wetter with every lick, your saliva mixing with her arousal, coating her pussy in a translucent mess. Some of her sweet nectar trickles into your mouth, and you savor every drop. Your hands wander to her ass, groping handfuls of her flesh, driving her further, closer, deeper into ecstasy.

“Clit too, please.”

You wrap your lips around her clit, one swirl of your tongue, and she’s squirming. Kazuha arches her back, trying to push herself further against your tongue, wanting all of you on her.

You pick up the rhythm, quick swipes of your tongue at her clit, and she melts into a moaning mess. Her hands clutch locks of your hair, not daring to let you go.

“Had no idea you were so fucking good at this.”

Her thighs lock on either side of your head, pushing you further and further into her heat. You can barely inhale anything but her pussy now—her sweat, slick, lust for you. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The more frantic her hands grow in your hair, the more you reward her with your mouth.

And it’s no surprise she’s already getting close. She grinds her pussy on your tongue, chasing her release. Her knees go weak, and her fingers dig deeper into your scalp, as if needing you just to stand upright. You press her further against the wall, steadying her.

Her wetness is all over herself, thighs, abs, pussy, coated in her own desire. Her moans take over the entire room—someone’s definitely hearing, and she couldn’t care less.

She’s screaming all sorts of things, your name included, and it’s the first time you’re hearing it in this flavor out of her mouth. You could get used to it.

As she finishes, a gush of juices flows into your mouth, and everywhere else. Your cheeks, lips, and neck are all a mess. Kazuha’s slick is all over you, and you could stay like this forever. (Not literally forever—good thing she always carries tissues)

“Maybe I did miss out on a few things,” she says between heavy breaths.

You look at her with an expression that says, I told you so.

You climb up and kiss her lips, offering her a sample of her own juices. Her tongue slips out to swipe at your mouth, tasting the mix of her slick and your spit, and she laps it up into her own. She lets you go once she’s satisfied.

“Not bad. Been a while since I’ve tasted myself.”

“You're kidding right? You taste incredible.” You wipe some off your mouth.

“Since when do you shower me with praise like this? Maybe I should disappear more often.”

She rests for a good few minutes, catching her breath. Once she's steady, her hand slides down to your pants once again, finding your cock pressing through it. “Can I have my turn now, Mr. Decision Taker?”

“Sure, but I don't see how anything can match up to the performance I just gave.”

“Ooh, shouldn't have gone there,” she purrs, dropping on her knees in front of you. Your pants are tugged down quickly, your hardness even more obvious on your underwear. “You have no idea what you started.”

“Or maybe I know exactly what I'm doing.” You grin, hand slipping through Kazuha's hair.

There’s no hesitation in her grip as she fondles your boner through the cloth, trying to familiarize herself with the shape before she even sees it.

“Brat…” She rolls her eyes as her fingers tighten on you.

“Just the way you like it.”

She slips her hands into your underwear and pulls your cock out. You’ve known those eyes your whole life—seen them light up over dumb jokes and game nights—but now, they’re locked on your cock like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Someone must have been feeling a little… constrained.” She runs her fingertips along your length, barely brushing. Every touch sends sparks dancing across your skin.

She glances up, catching the way you squirm. “Two can play at the teasing game.”

Your cock is throbbing, twitching for anything more than the ghost of her touch. Your thighs tense without permission, breath catching—shallow, uneven. You want to grab her hand, make her finish what she started. But you also want to stay still, because somehow the way she looks up at you, barely touching, is better than anything else could be.

Once she decides she’s done playing, she wraps her palm around you, slow strokes gliding up and down your length. You let go of a soft moan, ”Zuha…”

Her eyes meet yours and she strokes you firmer now, steadier. “I like hearing you say my name like that.”

“Keep going and you’ll be hearing it a lot more.”

She brings in her mouth close to your tip, tongue about to slip out—

—instead, a hot breath rolls over your skin. It hits you like lightning. Your cock pulses harder than before.

“Oops. That wasn’t intentional.” The smile tugging at her lips says otherwise. Her hand rubs gently over your tip, like nursing an injury. She holds your base firmer, leans in near your tip again—breath careful this time—and kisses it. Another, then another, and plants a line of kisses to your base.

Finally, her tongue slips out, and she licks you all the way back to the tip.

Kazuha gives you a few more licks, slow and deliberate, making sure not a single spot is untouched. Your cock is lathered with her spit, giving it a glossy finish.

“You taste good.” Her eyes glint up at you. “Could suck on this all night.”

You’re already getting weak for her. “Not sure I can last that long. But we’ll try.”

One of her hands drifts down to your balls, massaging you gently. Suddenly, she squeezes too hard.

“Ah—careful,” you wince, hips pulling back instinctively.

She lets go instantly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Was that too hard?”

You nod.

“Should I stop with my hands?” A flush spreads over her cheeks, as if she’s second-guessing herself. Doesn’t happen often.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You stroke her hair, trying to soothe her. “I know you didn’t mean to. You can still do it if you like, just be a little gentle. They’re sensitive.”

“Okay, I'll be careful.” Her hands return to your balls, fondling with a calculated care.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.” You cup her face with one hand. “Don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Her cheeks only flush a deeper red at that comment. She tries to ignore it and focuses her energy on your cock instead, trying to wipe that smile off your face.

Her hand spreads the slick mess all over your shaft. Your fingers dig deeper into her hair, urging her to take you in—and to your surprise, her lips immediately part open. Guilt always did make her more agreeable. Her hands rest on your thighs, steadying herself, breath hot against you.

Then she takes you into her mouth.

She’s soft. So warm. Incredibly wet. Her mouth wraps tight around you, tongue flat underneath, her spit making you slick as she slides deeper. Her cheeks hollow—sucking hard enough to pull a sharp gasp out of you. You twitch inside her mouth, and that is all the encouragement she needs to keep going.

Her tongue swirls around your cock, slurping loudly as she sucks, like she’s convinced it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

She keeps you there for a while, her eyes gripped on yours, watching them roll back deeper with every passing second. Drool slips from her tongue, soaking your cock until it runs down and lands on her own midriff.

“Your mouth feels unreal.” It takes effort to even pronounce words. “Zuha.“ More moans of her name, as promised. You see the glimmer in her eyes every time you say it.

She slides you deeper into her throat, her lips brushing against your waist. Her throat constricts around you—so fucking tight. Kazuha’s making the dirtiest noises you’ve ever heard.

And when she finally can't take it—she pulls back. Her face is a mess. Strands of her spit glide from her lips to your cock. It almost feels wrong to see Kazuha like this, but then why does it feel so fucking good?

She steadies herself with a breath, then plants kisses down your length, getting ready to take you back into her mouth. You brush a few strands of hair out of her face and lock them in your hand, still gripping her hair. Her lips envelop your length again, the sensation drawing a grunt out of you.

Her mouth bobs up and down on you, taking you deeper with every round. Your knees go weak, and you look around for something to hold onto—but nothing.

“Is it okay if I hold your hair tighter?”

She nods, unbothered, and barely reacts when you tighten your grip on her hair like your life depends on it—focused on worshipping your cock. If anything, she takes it as a sign to go harder. Her mouth moves faster on you, suction tighter than ever.

The wet, slick sounds of her lips on your shaft are somehow louder than your moans.

Her lips release you with a pop, and her hand takes over—lips kissing your tip as her grip tightens, almost possessive of you. She strokes you, steady and firm, and for once, your moans rise louder than the obscene sounds she makes. The sensation makes your back arch, every movement pushing you closer to release.

“It’s okay, you can cum on me.” Her hand keeps working you, milking you for all you’re worth, her face right below your tip.

And then you let go. Thick ropes shoot out of you, landing across Kazuha’s face—forehead, cheeks, chin, and some in her mouth as well.

A few drops drip down to her chest and midriff. She’s a total fucking mess for you—and somehow still manages to look like the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen.

“So, not matching up to your performance is out of the question.” She swipes a streak from her cheeks and licks it off her fingers.

You struggle to form a response. It takes a while before you can say, “Ouch. And here I thought you were doing all this because you were into me.”

“Of course I am, you dork.” She gestures to the sticky trails from her hair down to her body, like that alone should be proof. “And I pull off this look too, by the way.”

“Sure you do. Thank God you always carry tissues though.”

“Yeah, God,” she mutters, already digging through her bag—only to come up empty-handed. “Not this time.”

”What the fuck? We are not going out like this.”

”Yeah, I gathered.” She lets out a quiet breath while she takes one last look in her bag. “I can’t walk out covered in cum and spit. You’re gonna have to go grab napkins for me.”

”Your juices are all over me as well, ma’am.”

“All this is definitely worse. So you are going.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You stand there, staring at her, she is right. There’s no way she's stepping outside like that. Which means it's on you to dodge a dozen eyes and sneak your way to a food stall for napkins.

She looks at you, eyes glinting, lips pursed like she’s trying to suppress a smile.

”Not funny, Zuha.”

She shrugs. “A little funny.”

The packet finally comes out from her bag, and right when you’re about to grab it—it slips from her hands.

“Jesus. At this rate I might have to actually go out like this.”

She picks it up and offers one to you. “If I were you, I’d be thankful someone actually brought tissues.”

You grab it and start wiping yourself off. “We should take this someplace a little more… intimate. No point taking risks like this again.”

“That, I agree. But where?” She's dabbing at her face too. These are the wet deep-cleanse ones. Should do the trick.

”Same as usual, my place? Nobody’s home—whole reason I came here.”

“Works.”

—

“So what did you use to do there before you, you know, had a guy to play around with?” You plop on the couch beside her, packet of cookies in hand. The air conditioner drones in the background, a welcome break from the heat outside.

“Play with myself,” she says casually, grabbing a cookie.

You turn to her, brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that, dumbass,” she shoots back. “I meant doodle, sing songs, dance.”

You flip through TV channels, stopping on some old sitcom. “Prefer my company to that?”

“It’s close, but I’d say so.”

“Ever think about what life would’ve been like if you’d stuck around?”

“Sometimes.” She pulls at the strap of her top, then lets it snap back.

“Maybe we wouldn't have had to wait so many years for something between us.”

“Or maybe things would have never gone this way.” She leans back on the couch. “We were around each other all the time back then. And still—nothing.” Her eyes drill into the ceiling.

The TV screen flickers, static crackling from the speakers.

“Does that sometimes. Let me go check the connection.” You head behind the TV stand, feeling for the loose wire. You crouch down, out of her line of sight.

“Did you miss me?” Her voice is quiet, distant, like she’s not sure she wants the answer.

You don’t reply right away, spending a few seconds fiddling with wires that aren’t even loose.

“Sometimes. Like when I got sick, I half expected you to show up with juice and stupid movies again.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

You get up and walk back to the couch. “I never understood why you ghosted. Just had to make peace with it—no other option.”

“You really wanna get into all that?”

“Of course I do, Zuha. We were best friends for a decade. Whatever this is now, barely a night. I still care about you. That’s the issue, really.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She lets out a long sigh.

“Life got… weird when I moved. My new school was awful. I tried. But people either acted off or pretended I didn't exist, so I just stopped”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting her posture.

“And home wasn’t much better. Dad rarely visited, guess that was always the plan. Everything sucked. I wanted to text you—God, so many times. I’d open our chat and just sit there like an idiot.” Her fingers tug at a thread on the couch, eyes somewhere else.

“I couldn't. I was scared. Scared you'd moved on. Scared I'd look pathetic like that.

I wish I did though. Tonight… felt easy. Felt right.”

She meets your eyes now. “And more importantly, it was fucking unfair to you. I'm so sorry.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy.

“Hey… that sounds rough. Must have been hard to reach out with all of that going on. I had a sense things weren't great with your parents but not the full extent.” You pull her head to your chest. “I’m glad you told me though. Are things better now?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m alright now. I still think about you from time to time, but it felt like the door had closed by then.”

She stretches her legs, resting her head higher up your chest. “Shit, we've been talking all about myself. What about you? How’s life been?” Her eyes glance up at yours.

“Nothing that dramatic.” You chuckle. “Stayed at the same school. Then college. Got an internship starting soon, offer came through just a few days back.”

“Wow. Someone’s been busy winning.” Her voice softens. “I’m proud of you. If we’d still been in touch… I probably would’ve been the first person you told.”

“Nah, you never were.”

“Shut up, I so was.” Her palm covers your mouth. “You came running to me to celebrate after placing second in a sack race.”

“Hey, it was a highly competitive—” You fight to lift her hand off. “—race. Millions would’ve killed to get on the stage and collect that medal.”

”Sure.” She laughs—the sound so sweet to you. Infectious. You can’t help but join in.

Both of you sit there for a second, smiling, catching your breath. It's easy like this. Familiar.

You nod toward your bedroom. “I suppose we should be making up for the missed movie nights.”

“You wanna watch something or just sleep with me?” She grabs your wrist, tugging you along.

“Wow, that reminds me. One of those sleepovers, you fell asleep first, as usual, on me and I had the most confused boner ever.” You pause. “Maybe I shouldn't have said that out loud.”

“Were always into me, huh?” She looks back over her shoulder at you.

Your memories tug at you, almost like they're trying to say something. “I'm not sure. Which is what made it weird.” Her step slows a little.

“What’d you do?”

”What could I do? I waited till it went away, then went to sleep.” You reach the bedroom and shut the door behind you. “Can't believe our parents never suspected anything, with how close we were. Not that we ever crossed the line back then, but still.”

Kazuha gets on the bed with you, pulling the blanket over you both. “My mom did. She had the same two lines every time I left the house—‘Tell your boyfriend I said hi,’ or, ‘Have fun on the date.’”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Your lips twitch into a smile. “How come I never heard about this?”

“Because I told her if she ever called you that in front of you, it'd be the last day she saw me.”

“Sounds about right. Didn’t she question your tragic outfit choices for a ‘date’ though?” You pull up Netflix, and hand her the remote. “Your pick for the night.”

She scrolls through the options. “You want me in some short little dress or what?” Her nose scrunches just at the idea.

“Obviously. Don’t you do ballet anyway?”

“Performing’s different. I’d probably cancel the date if I had to wear one outside.” She eyes your watch history. “What kind of trash do you watch?”

You sit up, facing her. “Let’s up the stakes of our next hammer game—marshmallows are boring. If I win, you’ll wear a dress on our date.”

“And if I win, the dress goes on you?”

You stare at her, deadpan.

“Kidding.” Her hand reaches for yours, intertwining fingers. “And you're never winning against me. So if you really wanna see me in a red dress, choose a different bet.“

“Why red specifically? Maybe I’d rather see you in green.”

”Wasn’t red your favorite color?” She finally settles on a cheesy romcom.

“Didn’t know favorite colors are still a thing after you grow up.” The movie begins—opens on a girl monologuing that she’ll never settle down. “Wow. You called my taste bad, and now we’re watching someone explain why love isn’t for them for the hundredth time?”

“Best I could salvage from your recommendations list. And hey, fits the mood at least.” She slides her fingers up your arm, and they settle on your shoulder.

“And what kind of mood would that be?”

Her grip tightens on your shoulder as she leans in. “It’ll take her the whole movie to realize that love is, in fact, for her.” Her hair hangs dangerously close to your face, brushing your cheek. “We can skip to the ending.”

You breathe her in. “Why does your hair smell so good? What's that scent?”

“Same shampoo I've always used.”

“No way. Didn't smell like this before.”

She laughs. “Maybe you had rocks for a nose back then.” She moves even closer, and you can feel her breath, hot against you. “You smell it better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, moving in to kiss her neck. Kazuha wraps her arm around your waist. A low moan slips from her lips as you leave a trail of soft pecks down her neck. She tilts her head back, letting you find the curve of her neck better. You keep kissing her—until a crop top interrupts your descent.

“Want it off?”

You nod and help her lift it off. You continue your path, lips brushing on her collarbone. Your hand finds her chest, cupping her breast through her bra. Her breath hitches. Her soft sounds grow louder at how you’re touching her.

She lets her hands wander down your body, feeling your hardness poking through your pants. “Already hungry for more?” Her fingers grazing you like that don't help at all.

“Hungry for you, Zuha.” It feels so good to tell her that. Your lips find her cleavage, kissing at the tiny bits peeking out from her bra. The chatter of the movie—the female lead’s friends urging her to text someone—fades into the background, replaced by the sounds Kazuha makes just for you.

Your hands reach behind and unhook her bra, freeing her tits. Her breasts are soft and creamy, perfectly shaped for your hands and mouth. You taste them—tongue gliding over her sensitive skin.

Her nipples are already taut, and you take one into your mouth, savoring the texture of her arousal. Her hand tangles in your hair. She’s not willing to risk letting you go.

You feel her other breast with your hand, taking her in your palm and gently squeezing—more moans for you. She leans back, pushing more of her flesh into your mouth, urging you to have more of her.

You take your time with her. Quick swipes of your tongue, gentle sucks on her nipples, your hands massaging her tits, and with every motion, soft sighs slip from Kazuha’s mouth.

“Figured you’d be thorough with this too” She lets out a breathy laugh. You can feel her body getting hotter—and one slip of your hand beneath her shorts confirms what you were thinking—she’s soaked. You gently push her onto her back, climbing over her.

“These aren’t needed.” One swift motion—and her shorts are off and on the bed. Her juices are already soaking through her panties, leaving damp spots on the sheets.  You kiss your way downwards, moving to her abs—before she stops you, clutching your shirt.

“Can we please take this off too?” she asks.

“You’re so adorable being polite during sex, you know?”

She smacks your shoulder—

—”Ow, that hurt.”

“Yeah, kind of the point. Now shut up and get naked with me.”

“What's wrong with me finding you cute like that?” You shrug and let her help you take your shirt off.

She shifts her gaze. “I don't know. That's not… our thing.”

“Going down on each other wasn't our thing till tonight. Didn’t stop us.”

“Good point. But that doesn't mean everything will change overnight.” She drags a line down from your chest—coming to a stop at your waist. “Do your pants need a separate invitation?”

You take off your pants and underwear, and she’s wrapping her hand around you again. She grips you tight, stroking your length.

“I want you in me.” Her hand glides naturally on your cock this time, like she knows exactly how to please you best.

“Come here.” You help her get her panties off, her hand not letting go of you—almost like you’d disappear if she did. You stare at her beautiful bare folds, coated in her translucent arousal, aching for you.

Kazuha’s hair is spread across the pillow, framing her face, almost angelic. She breathes short, needy gasps; even having your cock close to her core is too much for her. You line up your tip against her lips, her heat brushing against you. Every graze sends sparks flying through both of you.

Her hands come up to your face and tilt it toward her. “Look at me, please,” she whispers.

You meet her gaze as you slide inside her. Your cock is immediately wrapped in her warmth, drowning in her wetness. “Fuck,” she hisses. Her walls clench down on you, gripping you tight, almost making you lose control.

“Zuha, you feel amazing.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. You can tell she needed that. You want to throw in another unnecessary quip but you decide against it—enough smacks for the night. Her walls stretch around you as you go deeper, adjusting for your thickness. Your hips meet finally, your cock fully enveloped by Kazuha’s warmth.

“Go ahead,” she sighs, arching her back slightly to give you a better angle. Her juices spill all over your cock. “Give it to me.”

You start slow, drawing your hips back leisurely. Her eyes flicker—caught between wanting to shut them and savor the feeling, and keeping eye contact with you.

“Ah!” She parts her lips when you thrust back into her wetness. Your fingers roam her body—the curves of her chest, the tightness of her abs, the softness of her thighs. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Your hand comes to rest on her hip, gripping her to steady yourself. You find your rhythm, your cock disappearing into her with every slow, deliberate thrust.

Your fingers press deep into her as you build momentum, little by little. You take a quick look at her reaction to make sure it doesn’t hurt her—all clear. If anything, the lip bite says she likes how possessive you’re being with her.

Each time you push into her, she lets out a louder moan—soft, breathless gasps spilling into the space between you. Her cheeks flush, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gives herself over completely. God, you could watch her face look like this forever.

It’s mesmerizing, really, how easily you can push her into the depths of ecstasy.

One of her hands grips your waist, grounding herself against you as she basks in the feeling of you fucking her.

“Fuck, just like that,” she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. The last word comes out somewhat awkwardly, but with how much of a moaning mess she is, it’s hard to tell. “Feels so good. Please, don’t stop,” she gasps, her perfect tits bouncing with every thrust.

“Not—” You grunt, hips rocking into her. “—planning to. You feel so—fuck—fucking good, Zuha.”

She fights to keep control of herself—loses. Her back arches, then sinks deeper into the bed, eyes closed shut as she melts into you. Her legs hook behind your back, thighs tightening around your waist, locking you in. Kazuha surrounds your entirety.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her mouth cups into an ‘o’, her body trembling as the pleasure crashes through her. You already know: It’s an image that’s not leaving your mind so easily.

One of the (several) things you’re getting to know about Kazuha tonight is that when she cums, she leaks like a waterfall.

Her juices gush all over your cock, somehow drenching it even more than before. Her body first tenses around you, then she quivers in pleasure, trembling. Her eyes flutter open to meet yours.

“Are you close too?” she asks. You nod in response. If you weren’t already—the sight you just saw was enough to nearly push you over.

“Keep going, feels so good.” She drapes an arm around your neck—the motion almost too much for her spent body. “Kiss me, please.” You lean in close to her, Kazuha exhales softly when your lips touch.

The kiss is lazy, lingering, a complete contrast to the rhythm of your thrusts down below. You pull back just enough to ask, “Zuha, where should I—uh, cum?”

Her brow furrows briefly. “Wherever you want… but I wanna feel all of you in me.”

“That’s what I want too.” You drive into her with a few final pumps—climax fast approaching.

“Cum in me, sweetheart,” she whispers against your ear. Your lips go back where they belong—pressed firmly to hers.  Thick streams pour into her. Her soft, drenched pussy pulls you in, clenching tight around you.

“Give it all to me,” she breathes. “Every single drop.” You keep pulsing inside her, each spasm dragging more of you out. She takes it so well, her body milking you dry like her words promised.

You slowly pull out of her, your cock slipping from her soaked core. Your release drips out of her, trailing down her thighs. You collapse beside her, every muscle sore. Kazuha clutches the sheets, still breathing hard next to you.

"That was nice," she sighs.

"Nice sounds like a participation award."

"Fine, it was fucking amazing."

“I hope you mean that." You drape an arm around her shoulder. "Wanna go sit on the fields later? Big cities just don’t have skies like these.”

“Yeah. Been so long since I’ve properly seen stars.” Her head rests on yours.

“Can’t say the same, seeing one right next to me.”

“Gosh, enough flirting for the night, Romeo.” The way her cheeks turn red disagrees with her words. “Starting to miss the days when you’d just call me names all day.”

“Who says I can’t do both, loser.”

“There we go. Much better.”

“Besides, you were the one who called me sweetheart earlier.”

“Never happened. Oh, and we don’t have to leave right away, right?”

“No.”

“Good. I wanna rest here for a while.” She snuggles up to you and shuts her eyes.

—

You lie down on the damp grass, the air cool this late at night. The blades are soft but cling to your skin, carrying a faint earthy scent.

Kazuha settles beside you. The sky above is wide and clear, scattered with stars. In the distance, the Ferris wheel still glows in yellow.

Balloons are being popped, stalls shuttered. Leftover food dumped into buckets. The painted horses are lifted from the merry-go-round, loaded piece by piece into trucks. Teddy bears crammed into plastic covers. The tents are gone—replaced by bare ground with nothing to offer.

“Sweet spot to light one.” She flicks a stray blade of grass at you.

“You smoke?”

Her shoulders rise in a shrug. “You heard my whole story. What do you think?”

“Thought that was just a TV trope. Guess not.”

The wheel lights glow brighter with every minute, while the rest of the carnival dims.

“Would be cool if the carnival lasted all year.” She exhales, like she knows it's wishful thinking.

“Don't know if it'd feel the same. But still, does feel weird watching it get packed up like this—like seeing a school after hours. Or an empty mall.” You wrap a strand of her hair around your finger.

“Liminal space,” she says.

“Hm?”

“Places of transition—or something like that. Exactly what you said. Felt the same to me when I saw it from the train window. The first time I was leaving town.”

The quiet stretches between you. A faint pop echoes, cutting through the silence—maybe another balloon meeting its end. The carnival getting taken apart suddenly feels like the only thing worth seeing.

“So…” You clear your throat. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

She tilts her head up, like she’s just noticed the stars. “I lied about something.”

“Wait—you're staying?”

“No. I’ve got a ticket.”

Something in your chest crumples, slow and painful. “What is it?”

“About why I always wanted to go on the ride with you, even when I was scared of it as a kid. The view was nice and all, but I never got the appeal.”

“Then why?”

“You liked it. I wanted to confess to you at the top.” She draws her knees up, curling into the thought. “Cheesy, I know. But I saw how your eyes lit up at the view. I wanted some part in that.”

She pauses, then adds, “And felt nice to have an excuse to hold your hand.”

It takes a few seconds to respond with a question that only sounds smaller out loud. “Why didn’t you—you never told me.”

“Chickened out every time. It hurt, not being able to tell you. Whenever you smiled at me there, it felt like I was drowning. And when I was leaving the last day…” She takes a long breath.

There’s a heavy thud of something getting thrown in a truck.

“But I could never risk what we had—could never risk hearing that you didn’t love me back.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” You say it with such conviction that it silences whatever doubts were still in her eyes.

“The second I saw you here today, knew I had to take my chance. Wasn’t getting yet another one.”

“Guess you took it.”

She shifts slightly, turning towards you. The grass rustles beneath her. “What I’m trying to say is, yes, I have a train to catch. But no, I’m not disappearing again. Not without you.”

Her words echo in your ears. They settle somewhere deep in your chest, humming.

All those nights you spent wondering why she stopped replying. Why she left without a word. Wondering if you were the reason she never looked back.

“So, what—I just drop everything and follow you?” The words come out uneven, rougher than you expected.

“No, but that doesn’t mean this has to end here either.” Her voice wavers, choking in her throat. “That doesn't mean I can't still have you in my life, right?”

Something in her tone sounds different this time. Like she’s scared to lose you too.

“True.” A soft gust of wind ruffles her hair across your cheek. “Suppose our date with you in a red dress will have to wait.” (But not forever, right?)

For the first time in all the years you’ve known her, you see her eyes pool. They shine—stars caught beneath the tears. One drop falls onto your shirt, sinks through the fabric, straight into your skin. Burning.

Her hand finds yours and squeezes, probably harder than she means to—as always. She whispers, “I’ll wait for it.”

The Ferris wheel flickers once, then goes dark.

—

[bruisedboys]

bob reynolds x thunderbolt!reader (post thunderbolts, no spoilers!)

The first time you kiss Bob Reynolds, it’s over a box of pizza and a half-finished card game. He’s not expecting it. Neither are you, really.

It’s only a short kiss, but he’s blinking fast as you pull away, lips parted and a deep red blush crawling up his neck. You notice he leans forward a bit, following you as you pull back, probably without realising. It’s so cute, you have to stop yourself from kissing him again.

“Wh—why’d you do that?” He asks, dazed.

You shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know. I like you,” you say softly.

To be honest, something just took over you. You’ve finally got a moment alone with him, when usually you’re surrounded by your team of vigilantes who don’t seem to understand the concept of privacy. And he looked so lovely, sitting there laughing at your terrible joke, and pretending like he wasn’t totally letting you win the card game on purpose. He’s been so sweet to you since you met, and you’ve liked him for just as long.

Bob stutters, “You… like me?”

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, Bob. You couldn’t tell?”

Bob shakes his head vehemently, his mouth shut tight like he doesn’t know what to say, or can’t say what he wants to say. You smile at him, feeling fond all over, your limbs heavy with it.

“I thought I made it obvious,” you say.

You really tried. From the moment you realised you liked him you tried flirting, but he’d get so red in the face you’d feel bad and have to force yourself to dial it down for his sake. You’re pretty sure everybody but Bob himself knows how you feel about him, including Alexei, who’s usually about as oblivious as a teaspoon. In the end you settled on just being friends, but clearly, you couldn’t settle for long.

Bob just blinks at you. “I… I didn’t notice. I’m sorry.”

You have to laugh. You’ve got no idea why he’s apologising, but he tends to do that a lot. He’s working on it.

“S’nothing to be sorry for,” you tell him, shaking your head. “But I really do like you.”

Bob gazes at you, something unameable in the way he looks at you. It makes you nervous, stirs a soft buzzing in your chest like a honey bee.

He leans forward an inch like he can’t help it. You feel much the same. The closer he gets, the less you seem to be able to think straight.

When he finally speaks again, it’s with utmost sincerity.

“I like you, too,” he says. His hand moves to touch your forearm, warm and gentle, and you go very still. You think he might kiss you again. You want him to kiss you again.

“Yeah?” You find yourself moving towards him, his touch drawing you in, the two of you a pair of magnets unable to stay apart. His fingers drag up the length of your forearm and he nods.

“Yes.” His hand cups around your elbow, so gentle it aches. He swallows, then says, “Will you kiss me again?”

You don’t have to be asked twice.

[coldfanbou]

In Heat

Here we go! So I ended up going with the winner of the poll...mostly because where I live also went through a heat wave, so yeah. Anyway, here we are with some hot and heavy stepcest action...literally and figuratively

Length 2.8K

Eunbi X Mreader

Life was very hard right now, despite everything you and your family tried. The heat wave running through the area was unbearable in its own right. What made it worse was having to watch your stepmother walking around the house in her bikinis, day after day, she would be around in them. Her heavy bust had nearly spilled out more than a handful of times as she moved around the house. You could hardly look at her; you would get hard in seconds, staring at her perfectly shaped body. You didn’t say anything, though; it wasn’t your place, either, considering this was her home, too. Still it was a problem you couldn’t so much as leave your room without catching a glimpse of her bending over to pic something up, showing that perfect ass of hers off. 

You had dreams about her, about your father’s wife. You wanted Eunbi. She was absolutely beautiful, and those bikinis she wore left little to the imagination. 

You peeked out of your room, and with no Eunbi insight, you went to the kitchen, hoping to get something cold to drink. As you searched through the fridge, you heard her. “Honey? Can you get me something to drink, too?” Honey, that’s what Eunbi called you. It was weird enough to hear her call you, considering she was only a little bit older than you. Add in the fact that she was also your stepmother, and it was weirder. That being said, knowing that she had called out to you, you grab a bottle of water for her and head toward the living room.

Walking in, you see her in another bikini. Eunbi was lying on the floor, sweat running down her face and legs, just as slick from the sweating she was doing. You paused, taking in the sight before you, Eunbi had her legs spread, you could just see the blue of her bikini bottoms poking out from under the white skirt she had on. Her breasts were bulging out of the top of her bikini top. You were getting hard quickly, and it would be tough if she spotted that. You shake your head and walk over to her, placing the bottle beside her before turning on your heel, ready to walk out. “Honey,” you pause, hoping she didn’t see your bulge. “Do you think your father is going to come home soon?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “I don’t know Eunbi. He always goes on these sorts of trips. Sometimes he comes back in a day or two, and other times it’s like a month.” You say honestly. 

“Right,” Eunbi responds, dejected. “I knew he would be gone for work a lot, but I didn’t think it would be this lonely. Do you want to play a game? I could use the company.” There was a hint of hopelessness in her voice, and as much as you didn’t want to be in the same room with her for fear of her seeing your bulge. You also felt bad for her. You saw the relationship they had firsthand, you heard about how your father would stop his trips and finally settle down again, but since the wedding, he’s been gone more than ever. You understood how Eunbi must feel, being told one thing but then getting the opposite. 

“Sure, what kind of game did you have in mind?” You turn around, sitting as quickly as possible, trying to avoid staring at Eunbi’s heavy chest. You focus on her face, seeing a slight smile form as you accept the invitation. 

Eunbi purses her lips as she considers what game to play. She rolls onto her stomach, crawling over to the TV stand, searching through the drawers. You can’t help but stare at her ass, it shakes from side to side as she looks. It was shapely, and your imagination runs wild. You imagine what it must be like to take her from behind, feeling what must be the soft piece of flesh pressing against you as you drive yourself deep into her. 

Eunbi kneels, finding a game she thinks would be good for the two of you. She turns herself around and places the box in front of you, Jenga. “This should be a little fun.” She says, a slight smile on her lips. She lifts the box and begins setting up the game, block by block. “It’s been so hot, hasn’t it?” She says, her eyes glued to the growing structure. 

“Yeah, it’s been pretty hot.”

“I’ve had to wear my bikinis in the house. It’s insane we don’t have air conditioning; these fans aren’t helping either. Eunbi sticks her tongue out, focusing intently on the tower, making sure no piece sticks out. Sweat moves down her neck, running between her heavy mounds. Your thoughts go wild again as you imagine lapping up the sweat between her tits, the moans she would make a response fill your ears for a moment. Your cock twitches as you think about it. You shake your head and push the idea out. 

Eunbi finishes setting up the game and looks up at you, noticing where your eyes were. A slight blush moves across her face. “The game's ready. Do you want to go first?”

“Uh, no, you should go first. You set it up.”

“Okay,” Eunbi looks at the tower and nudges a piece from the very bottom, pushing it out slowly until she’s able to reach around and pull it out. The shake shakes slightly, but there isn’t a threat of it falling yet. Switching to your turn, Eunbi eyes you while you focus on the game. She scans you up and down, noticing the bulge in your shorts. More than shock, there was intrigue. Whether it was because of the heat messing with her mind or loneliness, Eunbi felt a pang in her chest. She squeezed her legs together and stared at the outline in your shorts. “Bigger,” she thought to herself, biting her lip. 

“There we go,” you call out, grabbing the piece you pulled out. 

Eunbi shifts her focus onto the game. She leans forward, giving you a look into the valley between her mounds. She only realizes what she is doing as she glances at you, noting how much you are staring at her chest. She pulls another block out, placing it back on the top of the tower. 

It was back to you. The game continued with both of you staring at the other when it wasn’t your turn. The desire each of you held for the other was growing. Eunbi, at one point, had removed her skirt, saying it was getting uncomfortable. It was difficult to concentrate with Eunbi in her bikini before, but now that you had an unblocked view of her shapely legs, it was another beast entirely. Eunbi noticed your cock twitch as you stared at her body. Seeing the reaction pleased her. She was craving more, her mind began to imagine how big you were, and it was getting her wet. Still, you both played on piece by piece, and the tower became more unstable.

The tower was becoming unstable, threatening to fall over at any moment. “How about we make this a little more fun?” Eunbi asks, a teasing smile on her face. 

You wonder what she means, “More fun?”

“Yeah, interesting might be a better word. How about the loser takes off a piece of their clothing?” She says boldly, almost confident that she would win. 

“I- that’s kind of…”

“Are you afraid you might lose to your mommy?” Eunbi teases, sticking her tongue out at you. 

“Okay, you’re on.” You reply, your competitive spirit stirring in response. You watch the tower intently. It was a mess of missing pieces, the middle pieces almost completely gone. You spot your target, though, one section already had one of the edge pieces taken, you would take the other, leaving a single middle piece to hold up the tower. You make slight taps to the piece, nudging it out of place before tugging it out and carefully placing it back on top. 

It was Eunbi’s turn. She glanced at you before turning her eyes to the tower. “You know I haven’t lost a game in a long time.” Eunbi wasn’t after a win, at least not in this game. She picked her spot, going for something risky. She licked her lips, waiting for what came next. Looking at the level where you just took a piece, Eunbi was going to “attempt” to flick the last piece out, getting rid of one level entirely. The confident look on her face had you convinced she’d be able to do it. Eunbi’s smirk faded as she smacked her hand against the block. The tower fell down one level, shaking before it collapsed. It was all going to plan. She sighed at the loss and placed her hands on her bikini top. “I guess I lost.” Without any sort of hesitancy she tugged at the bottom of her bikini top, her tits bouncing in their confines before she finally brought it over her mounds and released them. You were stunned, unable to look away from her perfect breasts as they bounced in front of you, a slick and glistening mess from all her sweat. Your cock was harder than ever. “A deal is a deal.” She said, twirling the bikini top around her finger. “Are you proud of looking at your mommy’s tits? Hmm?” 

You couldn’t speak or do anything—the sight before you completely envelops you. Eunbi chuckles and bounces, so her tits shake and jiggle for you. “Well? What do you think? Want to touch them?” Eunbi said, pressing the issue. She crawls toward you and takes your hand, bringing it close to her chest. “Do you?” She pauses, her thumb running across your palm. “Do you want to touch mommy’s tits? Because there’s something I want too.” Eunbi places her hand on your crotch, moving her hand along your clothed bulge. You gulp, never expecting to be in this situation. You don’t even notice your hand moving forward, until you feel her soft tits rubing against your palm. Eunbi bites her lip, containing her moan before smiling. She reaches into your shorts, her bare hand wrapping around your shaft. 

“E-eunbi,” you groan. 

“Shh, Honey, I need you.” Eunbi leans in, pressing her lips against yours. “I know it’s wrong, but it's been so long and seeing you so hard…” You will weaken, and you return the kiss, your hand squeezing Eunbi’s breast as she pushes you onto your back. Your hand slide down her sides, sliding underneath her bikini bottom as you grab her ass, fingers digging into her soft flesh. Eunbi moans into the kiss, allowing your tongue to explore her mouth. 

Nothing can stop either of you. Eunbi wanted you with her entire being. Her hand moved along your shaft quickly. She pulls your shorts down with her other hand, springing your cock free. She glances down, eyes widening for a second as she sees your size. The shock is replaced by satisfaction; you are bigger than your father, just as she had thought. Her hand squeezeds your cock, making your grunt and drawing a bit of precum out of you. 

You release your grip on Eunbi’s cheeks and move out, grabbing the sides of her bikini bottom and pulling them down. Eunbi kicks them off on you get them to her knees and sits on your pelvis, your cock rubbing against her slick folds. “I can’t wait any longer, Honey,” Eunbi moans. She rises and aligns herself with your cock sinking onto it in an instant. It’s a shock to your system just as it is for Eunbi’s. You both throw your heads back, whether it was finally getting the release you both wanted, the taboo of fucking your family, or something else you both came at that moment. Eunbi’s body tingled as she felt your cum shoot inside her. She had forgotten what it felt like, and she wanted more. 

Eunbi grinded against you at first, rocking back and forth causing your cock to rub against her walls but her body wanted more. She placed her hands on your chest and squatted over your, slowly rising before slamming herself back down onto your cock. “Keep going, Eunbi,” you groan, holding onto her waist and guiding her along your shaft as you thrust into her. You watch her tits bounce as she gets into a rhythm, sweat running down her body. You lean up, sticking your tongue out and running it between her heavy tits, lapping up her salty sweat before moving over to one of her nipples.

“Oh, wait baby,” Eunbi moans as she feels your mouth surround her sensitive nipple, your tongue swirling around the hard nub as you suck on her tit. Eunbi cries out from the pleasure, her moans getting louder as you switch to the other breast. 

She continues to ride you, her body growing weaker as you both move closer to another orgasm. “Eunbi,” you grunt. That was enough to tell her you were getting close, even if you hadn’s said a word she would’ve figured it out sooner or later, your cock was throbbing inside her again. Eunbi had to give up her squat position and ride you normally, giving you the position to grab her waist and thrust into her for the final few moments before you both were taken to heaven, rocked by intense orgasms. Eunbi collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. You tilt her head and kiss her. Your sweaty bodies felt like they were melding together. 

“That was amazing,” she says breathlessly.

“I can keep going, at least once more.” Eunbi nods and gets ready to ride again. “No, I want you from behind.” You lift the young woman, moving her beside you. Eunbi lies flat on the floor, her strength gone from the previous two orgasms. Just as well you had always imagined fucking Eunbi into the ground. You run your hands along her body, stopping at her ass and giving each cheek a squeeze. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought of this, Eunbi,” you whisper into her before aligning with her cunt. You push yourself back into the welcoming hole, stretching out your stepmothers pussy, pushing your cum out of her as you go deeper. 

“Deeper, baby. Make me cum again.” Eunbi feels your body weight against her as you push deeper. Her eyes twitch in their half-lidded state. Fully buried inside your stepmom you pull out and slam yourself back in, your pelvis pressing against her soft ass. The experience was better than you had imagined. You lost yourself nearly instantly, beginning to thrust into Eunbi like a wild beast.  “Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck your dirty mommy!” Eunbi screamed. You snaked your hands under her waist, lifting her ass up and giving yourself a better angle. You slam into her ass with every thrust, both of your minds melting into nothing as claim Eunbi. You hold Eunbi up with one hand, using the other to her clit, pressing it and making her get closer to cumming. Eunbi roars as the pleasure floods her body, she backs her ass into you, wanting you deeper as your cum spills out of her onto the floor. “Oh fuck!”

Eunbi curls her toes as she’s rocked by another orgasm, her entire body shakes before collapsing onto the floor with you on top of her, your cock buried inside her tight cunt, filling her with another load of your semen. You rest on top of Eunbi for a moment before rolling off of her. Your cum pours out of her staining the hardwood. Neither of you cares, though; the experience was like nothing else. Your bodies desire more, and if it weren’t for the exhaustion, the two of you would’ve continued to go at it like rabbits. 

You don’t know how much time passes before your strength returns and you're finally able to get up. Eunbi was in the same position. As you both get to your feet, you look at each other, wanting nothing more than to have sex again. Your body is tingling with excitement. Eunbi reaches out and grabs your cock, her hands rubbing the creamy mess. “I want you to ruin me every day. We can’t tell your father about this, but just know that I am all yours.” You tilt her head back and kiss her. Eunbi raises her leg to your side, and pushes your cock back inside her warm cunt. 

You spend every moment you can with Eunbi from morning to night, the two of you revel in each other’s bodies, having sex all over the house, marking each space as somewhere you’ve done it. Even when your father comes back, you find a way to sneak in a few rounds, but the time apart fuels your need for each other, and the moment he leaves for another trip, you claim his wife.

[bucketbueckers]

TERRITORIAL

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth 👅 (w decent plot - cmon, we know how this goes by now) jealous!p, slight public sex & exhibitionism(?), fingering (r!receiving), packing (🌚), strap (r!receiving), oral (p!receiving), lap dances, spitting, actual warning for men

wc: 8.0k

synopsis: Paige knew what she was signing up for when she asked you, a revered dancer for Dallas’s most prolific strip club, to be her girlfriend, but sometimes she just can’t help getting jealous. Especially when someone thinks they can touch what’s not theirs.

notes: yes the title is from the kali uchis song. if there's any of my fics i recommend listening to the titular song for, this is def one!!! based on this req from 🫦 anon, hoping i did this justice for you and thank you sm for sending this in 🙏 i fear this might be the last fic for a minute - im not dying but i do have to lock in on classes 👎 not proofread but as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

You and Paige weren’t a very…conventional couple by any means. You shouldn’t work well together, but you do.

You’re a stripper – although you prefer the term exotic dancer now, mostly since you’d put an end to some of the services you used to offer – for one of Dallas’s most high profile clubs, Divinity. A corny name that served an even hornier clientele of Dallas’s richest playboys, sleazes, and their countless athletes. You weren’t complaining, though. It’s putting you through college, you’re well on your way to paying off your mom’s house, and you were fortunate enough to have understanding employers who were aware of the ramifications of their business. When you told them that you’d prefer not to perform lap dances or other private shows out of respect for your relationship, they’d readily agreed, a fact you were more than appreciative of.

Paige is one of Dallas’s up-and-coming stars, a bright-eyed, attractive, alluring athlete with the world at her disposal. She was shockingly grounded despite that, humble where you would have expected an arrogant jerk. For all intents and purposes, she wasn’t anything you were preparing yourself for, but you don’t think you’d ever be so thankful to be so surprised.

The two of you have been together for nearly a year, having met during a preseason match during her rookie season. While she was diving for a loose ball near the courtside seats, she ended up at your feet and spilled your drink onto the court. Paige was incredibly apologetic, hardly registering the fact she’d been awarded free throws for the foul, more focused on wiping the water off of your Dunks. After standing and staring at your face for a solid few seconds, as if wondering how you were real and in front of her, she offered to buy you a drink, but the refs were growing impatient and she was out of time.

That didn’t stop her from tracking you down after the game, though. Nor did it stop her from shaking your hand with an enraptured, charismatic little smile, asking for your name and when you’d be free like you’d already accepted her date offer. When you teased her for that, her smile just grew before she pointed out, “Well, you waited for me to come find you. Figured you were at least a little interested.”

In fairness, she was correct. You were interested, not because she was Paige Bueckers or some beginning of a superstar athlete, but because of her humility and how she sank to her knees in front of a sold out arena to dab the water off of your shoes with the hem of her jersey. That meant something to you. So you go out, enjoy the drinks and the company, and you see her again. Then again after that.

Before you could let your relationship grow out of hand, you knew you had to sit her down and explain your profession. You were really into her, but you could see how it could be a dealbreaker for a lot of people, especially since Paige was a public figure. She took it a lot better than you’d been expecting, which led to a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun. She asked if you enjoyed doing it – you did, you were just a dancer at heart and you would be the first to admit that dancing has helped you come out of your shell. 

In turn, you asked her if being with you would make things difficult for her. She was reasonably confused, then almost offended at the idea, before ensuring you that her private life was just that – private. Obviously, being the celebrity athlete she is, it would be near impossible to promise that the two of you could keep things that lowkey, but she was honest and told you upfront that she was falling for you and promised that if push came to shove, the two of you would work through it.

That was the heart of the conversation. Paige asked you to be her girlfriend a week later. It was after a private, rooftop dinner and movie in the fading sunlight of the Dallas summer. You’d said yes, of course, because you were falling hard for her, too. The officiality of your relationship sparked a new conversation regarding boundaries. You agreed on keeping your relationship private, mostly for your benefit – Paige had explained that she could handle the heat on her end, but recognized she had some…hardcore fans, and didn’t want them showing up to your workplace and harassing you.

You told her you’d talk to your employers about dancing only and discontinuing the private shows that people would pay for. It was for both yours and Paige’s peace of mind – you didn’t feel comfortable being so close to other people and performing intimate acts, even if it was your job. It wasn’t necessary and that was a boundary you were willing to enforce because you liked Paige, saw a future with her, and wanted to ensure there was no miscommunication about anything in your relationship. Paige, to her credit, had seemed guilty, making sure to repeatedly emphasize that you didn’t need to change your life or endanger your job for her. You just rolled your eyes, kissed her, and reminded her that you care a whole lot more about her than whether or not old, sleazy men get their rocks off. She’d probably never admit it, but she was relieved that you took that boundary so seriously.

Paige wasn’t known to be an incredibly jealous person. Communication, despite how uncomfortable it could be, was the very foundation of your relationship. The two of you were so secure with one another and any of her jealousy could be derived from a deep-rooted possessiveness.

It’s not the uncomfortable kind where she controls your every move or makes decisions for you – you’d had an ex or two who were like that and you were not keen on repeating that. It was more of a mutual agreement – you were hers, she was yours, and honestly, she was probably developing a bit of a complex about it; you’d perform for a crowd full of people who’d give anything to be with you, but it was her you’d go home to every night. In essence, she just didn’t like it when people got a little too close to what wasn’t theirs.

You and Paige weren’t a conventional couple. But you were a healthy one. You communicated, you had a whole lot of love for each other, and you worked. Despite that, you can’t always control how you feel, and sometimes, Paige just can’t help being jealous.

It was a Friday night at the club and it was already packed wall to wall with patrons, mostly your regulars, but there were also some new faces – investors, foreign athletes, various rookies for the hometown teams. It was a typical show-out, so you weren’t expecting much of it, not until one of your coworkers walks into the dressing room while you’re applying a thin layer of gloss to your lips.

“Never in a million years will you guess who just walked in,” Asha, better known by her stage name Vixen, states in lieu of a greeting. You glance at her through the mirror, your brows raising slightly. She’s dressed to the nines, her make-up gorgeous, and she smoothes out her hair while she waits for your answer.

“Hello, Asha,” you deadpan. “Yes, I’ve had a good day, thanks for asking.”

“Girl!” Asha kisses her teeth while she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re so high maintenance.”

You allow yourself a ghost of a grin, capping your gloss and spinning in your chair to face her. “Okay, who? Was it another rapper? Athletes? Married man?”

“Depends on your definition of rapper; yes, they’re all athletes; and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two people in there who are married, but they’re not men,” Asha responds.

You hum. “Well, who are we to yuck their yum?”

Asha huffs, annoyed at the fact that you’re not really reacting, before finally saying, “It’s the Wings, girl. As in the WNBA team. As in First Team All-Studs. I’m either walking out of here tonight with hundreds in my purse or a wife. Shit, maybe Arike’s looking for a third.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. That morning, before you and Paige went your separate ways – you to the gym and Paige to practice, she’d told you that they’d be out on the town tonight to celebrate some of their rookies, although you thought that would include the bar and some drinks, not a strip club. Knowing Paige, bringing her team to your club wouldn’t have been her first choice, so you figure someone else on her team had the bright idea. You weren’t upset, mostly amused since Paige tends to react to the club in the same way she does while walking through the lingerie section in Victoria’s Secret store – with a lot of dramatic horror like she’s not allowed to look at anyone that’s not you.

You like to joke you have her pretty house-trained, but you find it more endearing than anything else, and you trust your girlfriend.

“I’m sure Arike is very happy in her current relationship,” you say apologetically, knowing first hand that she is. You’d been to their place for dinner many times and Arike practically worships the ground Lala walks on.

“Let me dream,” Asha bemoans. Then, a sly grin appears on her face, and she slides a little closer to you, almost conspiratorially. “You plottin’ on any of them? I think I saw Paige Bueckers out there.”

You smile knowingly, trying not to laugh at Asha’s ignorance – a testament to how quiet you’d kept your relationship. “She’s fine,” you agree, trying to not look too helplessly in love. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want a private show.”

Her grin widens, but you’re both out of time – one of the stage managers knocks on the door to announce your call time. Asha wishes you luck while you strap on your heels, making your way backstage. The manager guides you to your spot and you take a deep breath in preparation, adjusting the thin, teasing bikini cover over your body. It hides the matching set you’re wearing – an alluring, dark red with glittering rhinestones. You have half a mind to steal it and take it back home with you, but knowing Paige, she’d probably object and buy you a different set entirely for your eyes only.

On cue, you walk out in time with the music, a slow, sultry R&B song, and you make eye contact with the people crowding the stage. The lights, while usually dimmer, have been brightened slightly in preparation for your set. You make your way to the front of the stage, where you’re amused to see your girlfriend and her team waiting. Paige’s eyes brighten at the sight of you, drinking you in, drawing her lip between her teeth almost absentmindedly. 

Deciding to tease her a little, you spin on your heel, your back to her as you pull your cover down inch by devastating inch. Your motions are deliberate, revealing miles upon miles of smooth skin, the lingerie covering your body, the lights catching the rhinestones perfectly. You’re practically glowing. With the cover in your hand, you crouch, making eye contact with Paige, and you smile cunningly at her while you wrap the cover around the back of her neck, pulling her in.

The crowd’s cheering, but you hardly register them as Paige’s hands find your skin. You brush your lips across her ear, knowing you don’t have much time, and you murmur, “What’s the girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you’re at the club?”

Paige slips a crisp hundred dollar bill into your bralette, her hands lingering longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. Her eyes are glued to your chest for a beat, but when they meet your gaze, her pupils are blown wide with desire and a thinly veiled mischief. “Sin now, beg for forgiveness later, right?” she murmurs over the bass of the music. “I’ll make it up to her.”

Your smirk widens and you release her, intending to actually start your set now. You don’t miss how Paige’s teammates jostle her in excitement. Arike was the only one who knew the truth and she just grins knowingly, shaking her head.

You always lock in when you dance, so your set goes by smoothly and ends before you know it. With a smile, you make one last lap around the stage, interacting with the club-goers and winking at the Wings team. If you blew a kiss to them, then that’s no one’s business but your own, but you make your way off the stage and towards your dressing room to change.

Asha’s up next after you, so she congratulates you on a good set before she’s off to do hers. You’re just barely slipping out of your heels when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s a stage manager, you call for them to come in, but you’re surprised when Neil, one of the club managers, walks in. He’s a new face, hired mostly just to fill the vacancy. You don’t know him well – you usually answer to Nicole, but she’s out for the week on a trip.

“Hey, Neil,” you greet, sliding your cover back on to ward off the room’s chill.

“Hello,” he says stiffly. “I’ve got a gentleman in Private Room C. He’s requesting you.”

“I don’t do private dances anymore,” you say, your tone not apologetic. “I think Jess is available.”

Neil sighs. “You know…” he says, trailing off, and you already know he’s about to say something out of pocket. “This is a business. You’re employed here. At a strip club. This is your job. If you were working at McDonald’s, your boss wouldn’t really like it if you refused to make the burger, right?”

You barely resist an eye roll, retorting, “I don’t actually think that’s the same.”

He clears his throat. “Either way, I wasn’t asking. An investor in the private room wants a show from you, so you will do it. You’re the only one here who thinks they’re above the business and refuses to do private shows. Pull your weight or you can find a different club to dance at.”

You raise your brows, meeting his gaze, and smiling in disbelief. “You’re serious?” you ask, laughing uncomfortably. “You can’t fire me. I’ve been here for years.”

“This is Dallas,” he says noncommittally. “We can find someone to replace you. Someone who actually wants to work. Take your pick.”

You stare at him, shaking your head in contemplation. You didn’t want to do the show – it went against the clear boundary you’d set in your relationship early on, one that has been strictly adhered to for the year and some change you and Paige have been dating. But you didn’t want to jeopardize your job, either. Given that Divinity caters to Dallas’s most wealthy, there’s strict rules the patrons have to adhere to to even step foot in the club. It pays extremely well, but this is also the safest you’ll ever be. 

Maybe you’ll get the chance to see Paige before you have to go to the room – just to quickly explain. She’d understand. You knew she would, and that you would make it up to her tenfold. But this feels strangely like betraying her and it leaves a sick feeling in your gut.

“One minute,” you say finally. Neil’s eyes narrow. “One minute is all he gets. You know I don’t do private dances.”

“Five minutes,” Neil bargains. “He’s paying a lot.”

“One minute,” you reiterate. 

“Fine,” he huffs.

You strap your heels back on, trying to control your features. You walk out with Neil following directly behind you. Knowing you won’t be able to detour to find Paige, you slow your steps, scanning the crowd for her. Finally, you spot her at a table in the back, nursing a drink and talking to Arike, clearly not interested in the show anymore. You’re praying for her to look up and meet your gaze before it’s too late – and she does, her expression lighting up at the sight of you before her eyes narrow, knowing where you’re headed. Hoping that she gets the message, you gesture meaningfully to Neil, and she nods, but she looks no less pissed.

Feeling a little more relieved, you try for a smile, pulling back the curtain in the private room and entering. Thankfully, the man sitting on the couch at least looks polite, so you hope that this minute will go by quickly. He attempts to make small talk, commenting on how good your set was as you slide your cover off again, but your heart isn’t in it. Your training goes out of the window and so does every pre-rehearsed line you’ve ever had to use in the past.

You spin, listening for the beat in from the music overhead, but you’re too lost in your thoughts, unable to commit to it fully. Thankfully, you don’t have to for too long because the curtain rips open again.

“Sorry,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as she steps in between you and the investor, who looks shocked. “She’s spoken for. Scheduling conflict.”

Without waiting for a response from you or the man, she reaches for your cover, wrapping it around your shoulders and ushering you out of the room with her hand on the small of your back. All you feel is a deep relief, letting her lead you to the glass elevators that lead to the private lounges and the managerial offices. The private lounges were usually set aside for reservations, something more elite than the VIP sections, but they’re empty tonight, as are the managerial offices.

The club has a few floors with the managerial offices at the very top. They stick out over the rest of the club almost like a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass walls, allowing for people to stare out at the stage and the seating area, but it’s usually too dim for the patrons to see up. It’s particularly effective for keeping an eye on everything and searching for unruly guests. Up here, it’s like a one way glass – fully private. You can see out but no one can see in.

“I didn’t want to do it,” you rush out as the doors close behind you. You watch the stage disappear as the elevator takes you both up.

Paige’s arm curls fully around your waist, pulling you into her. “I know, baby,” she says, but her voice is still tight. Pissed. Not at you, but at something.

You hardly hear her words. “Neil made me,” you explain, making sure she understands how seriously you see that boundary. You know she knows, but right now, you’re a little anxious, and you want it to be obvious. “He threatened to fire me.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she promises, her voice still dark as she presses her lips to your temple, your forehead. You have no doubt in your mind that she would, but the reassurance makes your heartbeat calm. The elevators open with a sharp ding! Paige leads you out and towards the managerial offices, her hand heavily over your waist, burning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning into her, the cool silk of her fitted, white dress shirt cold against your heated skin. “I was just a little pissed. But I’m good now.” She hums, trailing her fingers down your sides in a way that almost makes you forget. Your body burns for a different reason now. Swallowing thickly, you admit, “Just wanna be close to you.”

You can almost feel Paige’s smile as she dips her head down, her breath hitting your ear. “Do you?” she murmurs, her voice low, sharp, like she’s daring for someone to try to take you away from her. She leads you towards the glass wall, pressing you against it gently, her chest to your back. Your breath hitches, your eyes scanning the floor below you – dozens of people lost in their own world, in the dancer controlling the stage, too unaware of the fact that if they looked up, they’d see Paige Bueckers holding her girlfriend against the glass.

It’s almost thrilling. The fact you can see all of these people, but they can’t see you. You know they can’t see you, even if it looks like they can.

Paige’s hands trail to your shoulders, reaching for your thin, lacy cover, pulling it off with an agonizing slowness. Her lips follow the path, dancing across your shoulders with a gentle laziness, like she has all the time in the world to pick you apart. Her kisses burn, stoking a flame in your belly that’s been ready to ignite since she slipped the bill into your bralette earlier. She calms the heat with her tongue, licking your skin and groaning at the flavor like she can’t get enough of it.

Finally, your cover is off, and she throws it somewhere to the side without a care in the world. Her hands find your hips, squeezing possessively, and a moan slips from your lips when she presses lingering, wet kisses to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You shudder when her fingers trail down, slipping under the waistband of your lingerie, but she doesn’t touch you – she just hovers. Something about the reminder that despite it all, despite the many different facets of your life that she doesn’t control, that she refuses to control, your pleasure is the one thing she takes the most pride in. She has all the time in the world to figure out how she wants to touch you, how she wants to work you up.

“Just want me to take care of you, don’t you?” she hums against your skin. You nod immediately, feeling the flush settle on your skin, something in your brain floating away because you know you’re safe here. You can relax and let Paige handle it all. She kisses your skin once more before finally, she presses her hips into you, and your breath stutters. You can feel the outline of the strap in her pants, every maddening inch of the silicone. It makes you shudder with want, your arousal already leaking out and soaking your lingerie – you can feel it.

Something smart returns to you and you laugh a little, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up fully. Slowly, she grinds the strap against you, her breath coming a little heavier due to the dual stimulation. “Optimist, are you?”

Paige bites the lobe of your ear, her smile turning a little dark as she pulls you tighter against her. “JJ wanted to go out,” she murmurs in your ear, slipping her hand fully under the waistband of your lingerie. “Some club called Divinity, she said. Figured my girl would want a little break. Just me and her, a private room. She works so hard, you know?” Her fingers find your wetness like it’s second nature and she groans in delight when she discovers just how slick, how ready you are. “Oh, baby,” she coos, her voice dripping in sin and concern. “All this for me?”

“Nobody else,” you affirm, and she rewards you with a deep kiss to your jaw, a firmer swipe against your clit. It makes your hips buck before she steadies you. “P, please, need it so bad.”

“I know,” she says. Her fingers are everything and nothing, reaching down to your entrance, gathering the arousal pooled there, and using it to rub maddening circles against you. The stimulation is simultaneously overwhelming and not enough, especially coupled with the realization that anyone could look up and see Paige Bueckers ruining you against a window.

Her hips are insistent against yours, controlled in how they give you the slightest bit of friction before pulling away. You’re aware she’s holding you up fully by this point, so you give into it, reaching up with your right hand to thread your fingers through her hair, dragging her back down to your neck.

She doesn’t hesitate, her tongue licking from the base of your throat to your pulse point, smiling when she feels the relentless pounding of your heart against her lips. You can’t find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when her fingers are circling your sensitive clit like her pleasure depends on whether or not you’re feeling good.

“All those people down there…” Paige whispers, her teeth scraping against your skin, the heat of her grin branding her name into your skin. “They don’t know what I have up here. That the woman they throw their salary at comes home to me. That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this.”

“Fuck, Paige,” you whimper, feeling boneless when her fingers speed up ever so slightly, your body trembling and buzzing under her ministrations. She presses her lips against your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there, not letting up until a dark spot blooms under her touch. She kisses it gently, tongue swiping over the mark, almost as though she’s rewarding you for being good, for taking it. Her pride unravels you and your breathing comes in quick bursts, feeling ready to fall apart.

“You want my fingers, mama?” she coos, shaking her head in displeasure when you nod.

She doesn’t have to say anything – you correct yourself immediately when the fingers on your clit slow. Your fingers tighten in her hair for stability as you babble, “Want them, P, please. Want you to make me feel good. Please–” You cut yourself off with a moan when her fingers resume their speed and press a little firmer into you.

“That’s it,” Paige soothes, her lips kissing your heated skin gently, her soft words a gentle contrast from the intensity of her fingers. It’s nearly shocking, the dual sensations muddling your brain. “Lean against the window for me.”

You do as she says, letting her guide you to her liking, your palms pressed flat against the glass. Your forehead presses against the window, the sweat beading at your hairline smudging the surface, and Paige enters your personal space immediately. She tangles her fingers into the waistband of your lingerie and pulls them down your thighs with a devastating slowness, groaning to herself when a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and breaks when the stretch is too much. The lingerie pools at your knees and Paige presses her hips flush against your ass, grinding against you until you’re pushing back in search of friction.

You don’t have the time to beg. She reads the sheer need in your expression immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist, knees pushing your legs apart. Your breath fogs against the glass, and if you look close enough, you can just barely see your reflection staring back at you – hair messy, lips red from your teeth, the shine of your neck from Paige’s efforts. You can see the sharp outline of her smile, too, like the idea of claiming you in front of everyone in this club is exciting.

She wasn’t usually jealous. You were hers, she was yours, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But possessive? She wanted to show everyone who you were with, who gets to take the skimpy lingerie off of you after long nights. She wants everyone to be well aware of the fact that while they’re the ones fantasizing, she’s the one who gets to hold, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

Her mouth finds your neck while the opening notes of Kali Uchis’s Territorial reverberates through the club below. You can feel the bass coursing through your veins, the tinkling strings raising goosebumps on your flesh. Every sensation nearly fades to background noise when Paige’s fingers settle on your clit again, dragging through your folds to coat them in your slick, and her middle finger probes your entrance before sliding in with ease.

The motion punches dual moans from the both of you, yours in pleasure, hers in a near disbelief. No matter how many times she gets you off, the feeling of your cunt sucking up her fingers is one that gets her right every time. You clench, already feeling her brush against the spot that makes electricity course down your spine, moaning wantonly when she curls just right.

With her free hand, she cups your chest, thumb brushing against a nipple covered by the thin lace of your top. You gasp at the feeling, your forehead dropping onto the glass, fingers twisting around nothing, and the hand kneading your breast redirects to lift your chin. “Watch them,” Paige orders, her voice rough, wrecked. “Let them see who’s fucking you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, heat coiling in your belly at her words. You try to focus, you really do, but your vision blurs when Paige slides in her ring finger, her pace increasing in speed and intensity. If keeping your eyes on the club below you wasn’t hard enough, then it becomes near impossible when Paige’s slow grind against your ass starts up again, her soft sighs and choked moans like music to your ears as she chases a high you have to strain to see.

Her reflection in the glass is the perfect image of someone who’s ruined. Her hair is a mess from how you tangled your fingers in the strands, her brows pinched together in pleasure when the base of the strap brushes against her clit just right. It’s hot – really, really fucking hot, watching and listening to Paige lose her mind rutting against you while her fingers work you up to a quickly approaching high.

The flames lick at your skin, sweat slicking every inch of your body, your breath fogging the glass in front of you. The knowledge that you’re wholly hers combined with the feeling of her fingers scissoring in and out of you, knowing which buttons to push as if you were an extension of her, makes you keen, your hips unsure of whether or not they should buck into her or grind down in time with her fingers. You settle on both, gyrating and chasing your high, but you all but whine when her hand abandons your chin to press against your sensitive clit.

It’s overwhelming – Paige’s fingers curling inside you, pushing in and out relentlessly, her opposite hand rubbing delicious circles against your needy clit, the strap against your ass, your nipples brushing against the cool glass, and the breathless sound of your girlfriend’s moans as she gets off behind you is enough to push you closer and closer to the peak. With a broken gasp, you cry out, “Fuck, P, close,” and she nods against the sweat-slick skin of your neck.

Her hips slam into yours with a little more intensity, pushing you into the glass, both of her hands increasing their pace and pressure in tandem. “I know, mama,” she rasps, leaving marks on your skin, the indents of her teeth left in their wake. Paige sounds destroyed, like she’s moments away from unraveling completely. All that does is push you to the edge. “Give it to me, baby. Gonna make me so proud, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”

You come with a breathless shudder, unable to force the words through your windpipe, and Paige sags against you, her lips jerking messily while her fingers slowly work you through the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. The cool glass is like a balm against your skin, the sensation so needed while your skin burns and sizzles from the electricity. Paige is panting heavily into your ear – it reminds you that she’d gotten off, too, just from grinding against you. That makes the heat coiling in your belly return tenfold.

You push yourself off of the glass window, hardly thinking about the smudges on the surface, and Paige steadies your hips when your legs tremble. You turn in her embrace, smiling when she wraps you up, pressing your back against the glass now. She kisses your lips – deep, lingering, tongue probing for an entrance that you grant immediately. With her left hand, she pulls your lingerie off completely, tossing the bottoms to the side haphazardly, and she lifts you into her arms with ease. Your legs wrap around her waist, arms around her neck, as she begins mouthing down your chest.

“Nicole’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back from her trip and realizes someone got defiled against her glass window,” you mutter in between heaving breaths.

Paige smirks against your skin, dragging your bra down with her teeth, encircling a nipple with her lips, causing you to gasp. “Defiled is crazy work,” she mumbles. “I prefer worship.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, your body betraying your words when you arch into her mouth.

She squeezes your ass, walking the two of you backwards until her knees hit an armchair and she sinks down, pulling you onto her lap. The front of her pants are wet – you can’t tell if it’s yours, or hers, or a mixture of both, but it just makes you hungry when you pull her up to kiss you again. “You’re spoiled,” she retorts, fingers reaching up for the clasps of your bra. You let her pull it off you completely, smiling to yourself when she stares at you like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. “And so, so fucking fine. Jesus.”

You laugh against her lips, your fingers working on unbuckling her belt. She lifts her hips to help you pull her pants and boxers down in one quick motion and you quirk a brow at the sight of the slick between her thighs. You swipe a finger through the wetness accumulated on her legs, sucking it into your mouth with an indulgent moan. That makes the smug smile on her face disappear, and she grips your thighs tightly like she’d lose her mind if you weren’t on her strap immediately. “Can’t believe you came untouched,” you tease, your fingers dancing across the silicone gently. Paige tenses like she could feel it.

“You could touch me right now and fix that,” she offers, voice a little choked, her hips bucking up in invitation. You can’t help the way your mouth waters, knowing that Paige would have you right in minutes.

Instead of giving her what she wants, you stand up, your heels still giving you a slight height advantage over her as she manspreads in the armchair. She pouts, looking disappointed at your departure, but you lean over her and begin unbuttoning her shirt. With your breasts so close to her face, she looks determinedly less upset, although you have to swat her hand away when she tries to touch you.

“Rule one of lap dances,” you murmur, voice silky smooth, “is that you can’t touch the performers.”

“Shit,” she breathes, eyes widening in realization. “You’re killin’ me, mama.”

With her shirt fully unbuttoned, you slide it off her shoulders, leaving her in a dark sports bra. You grin at her wickedly, pulling her shirt over your arms as you coo, “I know.” Her jaw falls open in lust and disbelief at the sight of you – messy, fucked out, and wearing nothing but your heels and her shirt, which is multiple sizes too big on you. You don’t button it, but the message is the same. Paige always liked seeing you in her clothes, and now? You can tell she’s actually going to lose her mind.

She leans back in the armchair, one hand gripping the armrest, the other resting on her thigh, fingers twitching. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much unadulterated want on her face. With the Kali Uchis song still playing distantly in the club, you stalk over to her in slow, calculated movements, hips swaying. Paige doesn’t know where to look – your face, your chest, the glistening spot in between your legs. She breathes heavily the closer you get.

You settle both hands on the armrests, leaning over her, not reprimanding her when her lips brush against your chest, seeking out your nipples. You inch closer to her ear, breath fanning against the shell of it as you murmur the lyrics of the song to her. “See, I’m a lover, but I’ll go to war about mine, toe to toe.” Her breath hitches, but you’re gone as quickly as you’d come, turning your back to her.

Your hips move sensually, hypnotically, and you can feel that you have Paige’s undivided attention. Reaching for her left hand, you bring it to your waist, allowing her to lift the back of your shirt so she can get a clear view of your ass. She groans emphatically, her hand falling to squeeze your flesh. It makes your breath catch, too, the feel of her hand swallowing your skin.

You spin around again, the song fading away with the lyrics, “Once I claim my territory, I get territorial,” but you stop in your tracks. Paige’s free hand is wrapped around the strap, stroking absentmindedly as if it were an extension of herself, veins popping and expression gone. You’re throbbing immediately, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto her lap and let her have her way with you, but she takes matters into her own hands.

Paige reaches out for you, spinning you until your back is to her, and she lowers you gently. You sink down slowly. The stretch is delicious, nearly overwhelming as it splits you open, and the both of you moan at the feeling. Both of her hands reach up to cup your breasts as your ass settles flush against her lap, the strap hitting deep inside, and you’re feeling so wound up you could probably fall apart right now with her breathing unevenly in your ear, fingers tweaking your nipples, and her hands kneading your breasts.

Her manspread widens, her hips bucking up to drag the strap in and out of you. You grip the armrest with both hands, using it to lift yourself up and down, head throwing back in a drawn out moan when Paige emphasizes a thrust with a pinch. The slight sting of pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, devastating feeling in your core, and you melt when Paige licks a stripe up your neck again, sucking bruises into the skin of your shoulder.

Her right hand drops, leaving her left to brush against your nipples, traveling down your front to brush through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, whimpering when she coats her fingers in your slick and starts circling your clit again. She curses under her breath. You can’t tell for sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of wetness waiting for her or if it’s because she glanced down, watching your cunt suck the strap right in. Regardless of the reasons, her hips are canting up against yours, timing your thrusts together.

It doesn’t take long before moans are tumbling from your lips quicker now. Her fingers speed up, rubbing against your oversensitive clit with precision and pressure, the hand that was fondling your breasts dropping down to your hip to help you ride her, your legs giving out from the pleasure and the exertion. She’s rambling nonsense in your ear, more sound than words, but you’re able to make out, “You feel so good, mama, taking me so well. So fucking perfect for me. Want you to come for me, please, baby – give it to me–”

The sound of her breathless moans in your ear, the pressure of her fingers on your clit, her hand bruising your hips – it’s enough to send you over the edge. With hardly a warning, you spill all over her lap, your slick soaking the strap, the armchair beneath you, and she brings you down from your high with incoherent words and slowing her thrusts and fingers.

Energy gone, you’re more than ready to curl up with her in this armchair, but her hips shift – discreetly, like she’s still searching for her release and trying to play it off like she’s just trying to get comfortable. It makes you feel guilty immediately. She makes a soft noise of protest as you hoist yourself off her lap, your legs wobbling, and she shoots forward to steady you, a look of confusion on her face. The confusion melts into desire when you sink to your knees before her, fingers reaching to unbuckle the harness, but she pauses you with a hand to your wrists.

“You don’t gotta–” she tries, but you cut her off with a firm, “Paige Madison,” and she shuts up immediately, leaning back in the armchair. You haphazardly discard the strap to the side, curling your arms around her thighs. Before you press your lips to her dripping cunt, she grabs your loose hair, holding it in a ponytail with her hand. You kiss her clit in thanks, smiling when her hips jolt and she sighs softly.

You brush the flat of your tongue across her slit in one smooth motion, moaning at the taste and at the feeling of her grip tightening in your hair, dragging you closer to her. Listening to her wordless command and knowing that she probably doesn’t need much to come, you drink her up like you’re parched, sucking her clit in your mouth and suctioning with your lips. Paige grunts, her hips bucking up, and you don’t stop her, letting her chase her high against your mouth.

You alternate between kitten licks against her clit and long, flat strokes of your tongue against her cunt. It’s not often that you get to see her like this – fucked out and ruined, pliant and soft beneath you, dripping messily onto the surface below, but it never fails to activate a part of your brain that wants to watch her come over and over again.

Wanting to see her fall apart beneath you, you double down on your efforts, your tongue sliding messily through her folds and sucking at her clit until she cries out. You tighten your grip just as she tightens her grip on your hair, pulling you even closer into her – and if this is the last thing you see before you drown, her soaked cunt and the watery, pleading expression on her face, then you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Fuck, mama, ‘m so close,” she rambles, her hips moving against you with a fervor, chest heaving. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You hum against her, and she whines, moans falling from her lips until she chokes on the last one. Her thighs tense around you, caging you in as she comes, a long, drawn out groan reverberating through the room while you work her through the aftershocks. You lick once more, twice, until she releases your hair and pushes you away, too sensitive after two orgasms.

Paige doesn’t let you get too far. She pulls you back onto her lap, arms wrapping around your waist while you wipe her slick off of your cheeks, sucking the taste off of your fingers. She catches your wrist on the last one, sucking your thumb into her mouth and humming emphatically at your combined tastes. You smile coyly at her, thinking about nothing more than getting her home tonight and making her writhe. You sit motionlessly in her lap while she cleans off all of your fingers.

“You want more?” you ask teasingly, not really meaning it, but raising your brows when she nods quickly, her eyes blown wide. The heat is already licking at you as you grip her jaw with one hand, leaning over her face, and her mouth opens obediently. You let a string of saliva fall from your mouth directly onto her tongue and she swallows immediately with a low groan of pleasure.

You don’t get to say much else before she’s pulling you back in, your lips crashing together messily, her tongue swiping across your lips in search of more. It draws a ragged moan from you, one that she monopolizes on instantly. It’s like she’s trying to swallow you alive, to memorize the way you taste when her slick is on your tongue. It makes your brain spin pleasantly before she pulls away, a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes, but it softens when she sees the blissed out smile on your face.

“You okay?” she murmurs, squeezing your hips, and just like that, the heat of the moment fades – for now.

“I should be asking you that,” you joke. “Could have sworn you blacked out for a moment.”

“Shit, I might have,” she agrees, drawing a breathless giggle from you. You lean your head on your chest, listening to the vibration of her voice against you as she asks. “For real. You’re okay?”

You don’t have to ask for clarity to know she’s referring to before, to Neil. “I’m okay,” you promise, more glad than anything that Paige came in when she did. “Nicole’s gonna be pissed, though. Not even about the window.”

Paige hums, the sound almost noncommittal, but you’ve been with her long enough to know she’s being dead serious about a situation. If the moment were any lighter, she’d probably make a joke about you snitching – but you might be the one thing in the world she doesn’t play about. “I’ll handle him,” she swears, her tone hard enough that it makes you shift on her lap. She doesn’t even notice, which amuses you, but she continues speaking, her voice thoughtful. “I know you like working here. Dancing. It’s safe for you. But don’t let that make you feel like…you don’t have other options, you know? As long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry. Don’t let Neil – or anyone else – threaten to take this place away from you. Your safety and happiness are important to me.”

You soften, her words hitting home. Paige doesn’t pressure you to say anything – she never does, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin. “Thank you,” you say eventually, and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like that’s something she needs to be thanked for. Paige would move mountains for you – you knew that. “I appreciate that. And for you looking out for me.”

Paige presses a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against your skin, and she murmurs, “You’re my girl. I’ll always look out for you. Especially when you dance like that.”

You roll your eyes as she laughs, but you’re inexplicably happy. You kiss her again, softly requesting, “Take me home?” and Paige doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit, even though her clothes are a mess, her mascara is flaking, and she looks like she’s been put through a woodchipper. Your girlfriend might be a little territorial, but the one thing you know about her is that she’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of.

(When you wake up in the morning to Paige’s smug grin, you check the work group chat at her insistence, where Nicole is informing everyone about Neil’s termination. 

“Neil got fired,” you say flatly.

“Oh, wow,” Paige says innocently, but her beaming grin breaks through her feigned nonchalance. “That’s really unfortunate.”

You huff in amusement, turning off your phone and setting it on the nightstand. You swing a leg over her waist to straddle her and she wastes no time before resting her hands on your hips, sinking into the pillows beneath her, a chain glimmering in the morning sunlight, her smile far too satisfied. “You’re insane,” you murmur, like it bothers you. It doesn’t.

“Mmm,” she hums, pulling you down to her level to kiss you. “Think you like it.”

All you can do is grin, because you do. You really, really do like it.)

[karmavongrim]

How to tame your Billionaire fanfic idea

AU where Danny “eldritch-god” Fenton ends up in DC universe and becoming Lex’s assistant and dragging him kicking and cursing to path of being chaotic neutral at the very least.

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“This is so embarrassing,” Lex mutters under his breath. Well, there is one silver lining that came with this situation he thinks and looks at Superman some distance away from him.

The boy scout is still struggling in utter futility against an icy prison similar to his. Lex barely holds back a snort, at least he himself takes his loss with dignity (as much as one can have in such situation). He knows it’s impossible to breakout from the ice encasing them neck to toe so he’s already resigned to his fate and hopes that their jailer chooses to show some mercy for them sooner rather than later.

And speaking of their jailer, he move his gaze from the pitiful man in front of him to a much more appealing sight and what a sight it was.

On a makeshift throne of ice sits his personal assistant Danny Fenton, dressed in pristine dark blue dress shirt and black pencil skirt, his lean legs crossed languidly as he regards them both with a look of a disappointed mother. He manages to catch the attention of those beautiful glacier blue eyes and gifts his lovely assistant his best award winning smile.

“Danny-”

“Don’t even start with me Lex. You are as much responsible for this mess as he is. And no talking while in the chill out corner”, Danny scolds sternly whilst pointing at him and Superman.

No, Lex Luthor doesn’t pout. He doesn’t.

And of course this is the moment Superman decides to open his big mouth.

“Mr Fenton, release me! You have no-”

Danny cuts him off with a literal stop sign he takes from behind his throne.

“And I’m stopping you right there Supes. Both of you are staying right where you are till you can settle you disagreements like proper adults instead of taking it out on the entire city!”

As he shouts he motions at their surroundings. The spot they currently occupy is a park with a fountain monument… or it used to be before Lex and Superman totalled it alongside with many buildings and structures.

One can hear sirens going off all around as well as shouts from both responders and civilians. Lex can see from his position some folk who have been brave enough to come for a closer look after their brawl had come to an abrupt end thanks to the infamous office siren Danny. He can see few of them recording their rather humiliating state. Oh, this is going to be such a PR nightmare.

“How many times do I need to say this: If you want to fight take it outside the city limits! There’s a perfectly good field not too far you guys could use but no, we need to duke it out like couple of teenagers behind a Denny’s! Almost took out my apartment too! Again!!”

Lex can’t help but wince at the reminder, he knows Danny can hold a grudge longer than even Ra’s and has many times before threatened to move in with his sister Lena and taking their son with him if he didn’t “cut that shit out”. As much as it pains him to admit but most of the time he deserved each tongue lashing he gets whenever he acts to closely like Danny’s “fruitloop” of a godfather.

Of course the Big Blue decides to dig himself even deeper with their already ticked off keeper.

“Now listen here-” He doesn’t get to say much when the ice travel from his neck to cover lover face, effectively cutting him off as Danny levels him truly icy glare.

“I won’t repeat myself. You’re supposed to be a hero yet it seems that you cause as much destruction as the rest of them. You think yourself so high and mighty on your ‘moral high horse’ but here’s a news flash for you smallville, life isn’t black and white; evil isn’t evil just for the sake of it, it very rarely is and people don’t always do good things because it’s the right thing to do. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about your little dick measuring competition as long as you keep the rest of us who just want to live a peaceful safe life out of it. Capisce?”

With each word his eyes glow brighter and more frigged as he dares Superman to try anything, His hand tightening around the stop sign he still brandishes like a kings scepter. For once the superhero lowers his eyes in defeat after he seems to realize that he isn’t going to win this one much to Lex’s disappointment (it would’ve been entertaining to see where this could’ve gone) and that cold gaze is now pinned on the businessman. Lex doesn’t falter but nods his head in submission feeling rather chastised himself from the tirade. Though it left him feeling something *ehem* else too which the tightly packed ice on his body conceals rather well. The way he’s able to talk down Big Blue himself… Damn, Lena was right: he does have a competence kink.

As he tries and fails to think anything else to lessen his ever hardening problem their tentative silence of self-reflection is shattered by a youthful laugh, “Hahah this is hilarious! Guys takes pictures quick.”

Lex wishes he could bang his head against something when a familiar group of teen heroes waltz in and take in their unfortunate state. Kid Flash openly laughs as he takes as many pictures as possible and highly amused Artemis looks on, Robin is tapping away on his wrist device with a smirk while Aqualad seems more perplexed than anything with the whole ordeal. Miss Martian giggles as she follows another teen called Supernova- also known as Conner Fenton up to the throne and its occupant. Dressed in a distinct black and white suit with blue accents that seems to pay homage to another hero there even if they haven’t worn theirs in years. Danny visibly softens at the sight of them and gives his greeting.

“Hey little star, been busy?”

The teen, a male with same hair and eyes as Danny shrugs, “Not really. Nice weapon,” he says and points at the stop sign. Danny shrugs and tosses it to the side.

“You can’t beat the classics, besides the thermos of course. So what are you kids doing here?”

Supernova rolls his eyes, “Big wigs up in the atmosphere want to know whats up. They fighting again?”

Danny nods and mutters, “Yep. Seriously, it feels like instead of being a high payed assistant I’m a glorified babysitter to adult sized children. And just you know that out of all of these children you two are my favorites.”

Supernova snorts, “Sure hope so, considering I’m your only biological one. Anyway I’m going to go and make fun of dad and not-dad, see ya mom.”

Lex can only sigh in resignation as Supernova walks up to him, leaving Danny to chat with Miss Martian about new muffin recipes.

“Hi dad”, he says with a shit-eating grin.

“Son”, Lex huffs. The little shit puts his arm over his frozen shoulder and leans casually over.

“Sooo, how’s it going? Other than pissing off mom for the fifth time this month.”

Before Lex can defend himself another more gruffer voice carries over.

“I would like to know as well.”

Oh look it’s Batman, what a joy. He’s standing by Danny’s throne and examining them, then he turns to the still sitting male. “Danny”, he greets.

“Batman”, Danny gives a two-finger salute in turn.

“Hmm”, comes ever so eloquent response, which Danny counters.

“You can’t tell me they don’t deserve this. I’m going easy on them in my opinion.”

“I know. Saw the footage”, Batman states. Danny raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

A second, then two…

“Carry on.”

He then turns to the two men still stuck in place, “Superman we will discuss about your shameful conduct and disregard toward civilian lives and property.”

He turns to leave since the other is still silenced by ice but not before saying to the assistant, “and Mr Fenton will have no problem in educating Mr Luthor in same manner.”

Danny gives a sharp smile.

“Oh I will don’t you worry.”

And just like that the Dark Knight is gone like a shadow in a broad daylight. Danny claps his hands to gain everyones attention, “Now then, since were going to be here for a while would you kids like to have some triple-chocolate muffins I managed to make before those two interrupted my stress baking session.”

Predictably all of them are on board.

“Ooh me me me!”

“Yes please!”

“Sure why not.”

“I would be delighted.”

“Hm.”

“You didn’t mix sugar with salt this time did you?”

And Lex can only hope that Danny would give him one out of sheer pity.

[mushyposts]

OKAY I HAVE A STORY TO TELL.

MY BEST FRIEND FUCKING HATES THIS HANSTER. Or more specifically, she hates ME and this hamster happens to be in the crossfire.

I sent this to her for the first time at LEAST three years ago. I don’t even remember the original context, I was having a phase of sending unrelated images as reaction photos and that last one in the thread got me so bad. I spammed her saying it was important, and then sent the hamster. She got so mad at it that I made it a point to send it whenever I could just because I couldn’t understand WHY she had such a deep hatred for this lil guy who’s just cheeked up!!

Her hatred for this image has led to her having to go on actual, honest to god walks because I’d just send it for NO reason. It’s a sticker on my iPhone, it’s saved to my phone and my laptop in a special folder for easy access, I have it open on a tab at all times. I am always ready, and the rage this mad her feel was unmatched.

Now. Important thing about me. I am VERY good at the long-con. Sort of ridiculously good, actually. I have “hamstered” her three times since the time I got temporarily blocked for it. It’s important to also note that aside from me sending it nonsensically, she has 0 reason to be so knee-jerk aggressive around the hamster. Anyway. Onto the three times I’ve hamstered her in the most BRILLIANT ways.

1- I did not use the hamster for over a year. I had moments I could have, but I didn’t. She even pointed this out!! Saying “I expected hamster ass.” But I did not rise to the bait, for I knew if I waited, the result would be oh so sweet.

I travelled HOURS to meet her, I took a plane, I used a train for the first time, I LABOURED!! And finally the moment was upon us. We met for the first time in person, we hugged, we exchanged thoughtful gifts, we went back to her house so I could force her to watch the hunger games, and then my time to strike came. I said “oh I have an edit to show you!” And I brought up an edit I had made using a capcut template, the “say yes to heaven, say yes to me. I’ve got my eye on you.” And then at the “you”, hamster ass flew across the screen.

The betrayal. The rage. The horror. It was cinematic. It was BEAUTIFUL. It was beyond anything I had ever seen before in my life. I played the long con, and it paid off. “In my own house?? Under my roof??” Yes, Soap. In your home. Under your roof. My hubris is unmatched and you consistently let it go unchecked. This is a saw trap you designed, enjoy the hamster.

2- I had just gotten back into contact with a mutual friend of ours who I hadn’t spoken to in years! It had been around eight months since the amazing first-meet-hamster-ass, and I once again hadn’t used it since then. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.

I sent a photo of the hamster ass to our friend and asked him to use it when he felt the time was right, and I wish I could have seen it when the time was right. Out on the beach, I think, and he goes “hey, look at this!” And shows her the hamster ass. The confusion, the betrayal, the shock. I would give my afterlife to be a fly on a rock observing that interaction. The rage in the message she sent me was beautiful.

At some point it becomes something she brings unto herself. I don’t gain anything from the hamster but her reaction, and yet even though she fully understands this, her rage for the hamster out matches her understanding that if she stopped reacting, I’d stop hamstering.

3- now. This one took prep, and I can’t take all the credit. I got my friends sibling in on this one and we planned it for MANY weeks before. I sent a document with ten hamster asses on it, and they cut each one out, numbering them 1-10, with little witty remarks on the back of them to keep things interesting.

I distracted my friend with our homestuck re-read, such perfect planning, and her sibling hid the hamster asses around their home. Coming to the end of the call while we discussed how wild everything was, and how we always forget the crazy little details, sibling walks in.

“I got some chocolate!” “Oh! Thank you-“ the pause. The silence. THE ERUPTION OF CHAOS AND RAGE. “THERE IS SOMETHING SICK AND WRONG WITH YOU!!” The HORROR!! Shakespeare could only ever HOPE to get to the level of drama and chaos exhibited in that discord call.

Nothing, however, could match when I went, “enjoy the hamsters!” And she goes “… hamsters? Plural?” And realises that yes, indeed, the hamsters are numbered. One to ten. She had number one handed to her, and yet nine more await her, hidden in her own home.

Has she found them all, you ask?? No. No she has not. How do I know for a fact that she hasn’t? Because if she had found number 10, I would know within on second of her realising, because the shock and horror when she finds it will be completely unmatched to any horror film identity reveal. No plot twist will ever compare to how she will react to number ten.

Anyway, that’s the very brief story of cheeked up hamster. I could add some screenshots of her reactions to being hamstered but it’s also late at night and I can’t be bothered. Just wanted to share with the world that sometimes the most fun pranks are the completely harmless ones.

Breaking your friends shit is out, sending them a cheeked up hamster is in.

[bjlipss]

— bug, part vii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. yes they kiss and they do that a lot

part vi <- part vii -> part viii

it’s not like it’s a date date.

not really.

except—you know. sukuna asked. and you said yes. and then you smiled at him like it was the best thing anyone’s ever said to you, and now he’s standing outside your dorm room with clammy hands, trying not to sweat through his black hoodie.

he’s been standing there for like… a minute. maybe longer. just staring at your door.

which is stupid. he’s not nervous. not really. he’s been in fights that raised his blood pressure less than this.

but then the door creaks open—

and he just about forgets how to breathe.

you’re wearing a dress.

not a fancy one, nothing dramatic, but… it’s soft and floaty and falls around your knees just right. the sleeves are a little sheer. there’s a frilly bow at the collar, tied slightly crooked. your lips are glossy, your glasses are smudge-free, and your hair looks brushed and styled and like you tried.

and sukuna—who’s normally very good at not losing his cool—just stands there, totally silent, like a man who’s just seen god.

“hi,” you say, shy and small, tugging at your sleeve. “do i… do i look okay, suku?”

his mouth opens. nothing comes out. suku? he is weak.

you fidget. “is it too much? i wasn’t sure—”

“no,” he blurts. “you look…”

you look dangerous, he thinks. you look like you could ruin him.

“…really fucking good,” he finishes, voice a little hoarse.

your eyes go wide. your whole face pinkens.

he clears his throat, ears going red. “i mean. yeah. you always do. but. yeah.”

you beam.

he is, absolutely, one hundred percent, going to die.

—

you end up at a ramen shop just off campus.

it’s a tiny place tucked between a laundromat and a secondhand bookstore. warm and clattery inside, with handwritten signs on the walls and the scent of broth and garlic in the air. you picked it, of course. sukuna’s not picky, but you’re weirdly passionate about hole-in-the-wall food joints, and you’ve been talking about “this one place with the good gyoza” all week.

so now you’re here. across from him in a booth by the window, animated and glowing and talking a mile a minute while your legs bounce under the table.

he doesn’t say much at first. he just watches.

he’s not sure he’s ever seen someone talk so much and say so little and somehow still hold his entire attention. you tell him all about the jellyfish exhibit at the aquarium (again), about the fruit you found that looks like a brain, about the ghost you swear lives in the dorm laundry room.

you call him rude things affectionately. you slurp your noodles loud enough to draw stares. you drop your chopsticks three times and make him retrieve them from the floor while mumbling an apology through a mouthful of bean sprouts.

and he… can’t stop smiling.

which is horrifying. he’s not a smiler.

you glance up mid-bite and pause, frowning. “what?”

he blinks. “huh?”

“you’re staring.”

he shrugs. “you’re pretty.”

you choke. “what?”

“you heard me.”

you look down fast, suddenly all shy, and that’s when you say it:

“you have very kissable lips, you know.”

he almost knocks over his water.

you say it so casually. like you’re commenting on the weather. like his entire existence doesn’t just about short-circuit at those words.

“what?” he rasps.

you blink at him, all innocent. “what?”

he can’t speak. can’t breathe.

you go back to your noodles like nothing happened.

he grips the edge of the table so hard it creaks.

—

dessert is a shared bowl of matcha mochi with red bean. you feed him a bite with your spoon. he nearly forgets his own name.

and then you’re walking again, side by side, quiet now. the city’s quieter too—softer, somehow. streetlights blur into gold halos. the air smells like early spring and fried food and something sweet he can’t name.

your hand brushes his. he twitches. glances at you.

you glance back, shy smile curling your lips.

then you slide your fingers into his—light and gentle like you’re not sure he’ll let you. like you expect him to pull away.

he doesn’t.

he stops walking instead.

you stop too, blinking up at him. the streetlight above flickers.

his voice is low when he speaks. not rough, not sharp. just quiet.

“i want to kiss you.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“i’ve been thinking about it all night,” he says, like a confession. “and before that. and every time you look at me like I’m worth something.”

your breath catches.

“but i won’t,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

“…why not?” you whisper.

he shifts closer. lifts your hand to his chest, lets you feel how fast his heart’s beating.

“because,” he says, voice hoarse, “once i start, i won’t wanna stop.”

and you—blushing, dazed, glowing like the inside of a star—you just nod.

“okay,” you whisper. “maybe next time.”

he smiles, soft and a little broken.

he walks you to your door. you thank him for the night, call it fun, and hug him so tight he sways a little under the weight of it. he doesn’t kiss you.

but he thinks about it the whole walk home.

and then again. and again. and again.

—

it happens when he walks you home again.

third time this week. not that he minds.

you talk the whole way—about birds that mate for life and which bread is best (he says rye, you say the fluffy supermarket kind with no nutritional value, the kind that tastes like air and nostalgia), and he listens. nods along, snorts when you tell him penguins gift each other pebbles.

you don’t even notice that you’re swinging your arms in sync. he does.

when you reach your building, you pause like always, standing in the glow of the yellow streetlamp. there’s a moth circling the light, and you track it lazily with your eyes, blinking up at it, then up at him.

you smile. soft. sleepy. the corners of your lips quirking without effort. like you don’t even know what you do to him.

and something in him just clicks.

like, yeah. now. i need this.

he takes one step closer. close enough that you go still, blinking in surprise, shoulders hunching slightly like you’re not sure what to expect. your breath catches. he’s looking at you like he’s deciding something. like he already has.

“wanna kiss you,” he mutters, voice gravel-low, like it’s being pulled out of him.

you freeze for half a second. blink once. twice. then breathe, “oh.”

he raises a brow, amused, just barely. “that okay?”

you nod, quickly, heart hammering. “okay.”

and then he does.

slow, at first—like he’s giving you time to pull back, to change your mind, to breathe.

you don’t.

your lips meet his too fast, a little too hard. you bump his nose and clutch his hoodie like it’s an anchor and tilt your head the wrong way, and it’s clumsy, breathless, adorable.

he lets out a quiet grunt of surprise against your mouth.

“what was that, loser,” he murmurs, chuckling, as you pull back half a centimeter, embarrassed.

“sorry,” you mumble. “i don’t—I’ve never really—i mean—”

“hey.” his hand comes up, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. “shut up. just…” his voice lowers, lips brushing yours, “slow down.”

you nod again. “okay.”

this time, he kisses you with intent.

his hand slides into your hair, thumb stroking just behind your ear. his mouth is warm, sure, soft but confident—he presses in slowly, lets it build. your lips part on instinct, a tiny gasp escaping you, and he immediately groans into your mouth like he can’t help it.

you taste like your favorite lip balm, and whatever candy you snuck from your pocket earlier, and something soft and sweet that makes him feel dizzy.

your hands fist his hoodie, and you rise slightly on your toes like you want more.

so he gives it to you.

a longer kiss—deeper this time. his tongue flicks against yours, gentle, teasing, and you shiver. he kisses you like it’s a language only he knows, like he wants to teach you. and you follow every cue he gives, slow and careful and completely, stupidly sincere.

your glasses are askew. your heart is pounding. you whimper softly when he pulls away for air.

he swears under his breath. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“was that bad?” you ask, breathless, lips kiss-swollen.

he just stares at you. like you’ve reached into his chest and taken hold of something vital.

“no,” he says. “it’s just—fuck, you’re—”

he doesn’t finish the thought, kisses you again instead.

your hands slide up into his hair and he practically melts. his arm curls around your waist, tugging you flush against him like he doesn’t want to let go, ever. your body fits against his so perfectly it’s almost unfair.

he groans again when you sigh into his mouth.

“still okay, baby?” he murmurs, between kisses, mouth brushing yours, breath warm.

you nod again, a little dazed. “mhm. yeah.”

so he keeps going. quick kisses—little nips and stolen gasps, peppered along your lips, your jaw, your cheek.

you giggle, breath hitching. “sukuna—”

“hmm?” another kiss, this one lazy and drawn out.

“we’re—outside,” you mumble. “people could see.”

“don’t care,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “let ‘em.”

you’re breathless. glowing. everything about you feels real and close and perfect.

you blink up at him when he finally stops, lips flushed, eyes wide. you look like you’re trying to process the universe.

“…so,” you murmur, “that was really nice.”

he huffs a laugh. “yeah?”

you nod slowly. “can we do it again?”

his grin is feral and fond all at once.

“you’re gonna destroy me,” he says, shaking his head.

then he leans in again.

and kisses you until you forget your own name.

[snail-day]

Respectfully, let me put a bun in that oven

Gojo x Reader

WC: 2.5k

TW: Pathetically in love Gojo, brief smut, no protection, MDNI

a/n: Based on the other "okay satoru" drabbles. I swear I will update my masterlists...soon...hopefully. <3

Okay. Okay. Breathe, Satoru. You can do this.

It’s just a little card. Some flowers. Your wife's favorite drink. A cake. For no reason. Well, for a reason. A big reason. A terrifying, life-altering, universe-breaking reason.

Satoru stands at the edge of the bed with the tray in his hands and his heart somewhere lodged around his throat. The card’s bent at the corner from all the fidgeting when he was stuck in the aisle for a near hour reading them all. The frosting is smudged from nearly tripping when thinking about his words. He thinks the flowers might be a little wilted, even though he picked them up this morning.

His hands shake. He’s sweating. Oh god, he's sweating. He is, respectfully, freaking the fuck out.

You stir under the plush, warm blankets, lashes fluttering, your body warm and soft in the early light. You blink up at him, bleary and confused, and then smile.

God, that smile.

That soft, sleepy, loves-him-anyway smile that makes his knees wobble.

“What’s all this?” you rasp, voice thick and sweet from sleep.

Satoru nearly forgets how to function. Stares at you for a beat too long before he clears his throat, shifting his grip on the tray when it begins to shake. Moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside you.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, trying for casual. Failing spectacularly. “Like. Maybe. If you wanted… we could…”

His throat goes dry. He looks so stupid right now - bedhead-wrecked white hair, wearing one of the tourist-turned-sleep-shirt that says “Snuggle Bug” with two cartoon frogs cuddling on it, and eyes so wide and blue it’s like the whole sky’s been poured into them. His lashes flutter when he blinks. Trying to look anywhere but you. Why is confrontation so hard?

What if this is dumb? What if you’re not ready? What if he’s not ready?

Except… he kind of is. Has been.

That one extra room in the house, the one neither of you touches. Not a guest room. Not storage. Just… empty. Waiting.

And the way you always squeeze his arm a little tighter when you see a baby in a carrier. The way you murmur, “I wonder when that’ll be us,” like you’re dreaming it quietly to yourself but loud enough for him to catch it. Loud enough for him to start wanting it too.

So when his words start to spiral, when his mouth goes too fast and his thoughts can’t keep up, you stop him.

With a kiss.

Soft and warm. Gentle. You kiss him like you already know what he’s trying to say. And he melts.

The tray gets abandoned somewhere on the bed. A mess for later. His long arms wrap around you in a heartbeat, pulling you into his chest to capture you closer.

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his jaw, voice soft and sure.

He nods. Tries to swallow the knot in his throat. Presses his forehead to yours, those messy strands of white hair falling down over his lashes as he whispers -

“I’d really love for you to be the mother of my kids,” his voice breaks just slightly. “If you’re willing.”

Please be willing.

You nod. Small. Sweet. Almost shy.

“Yes?” You respond, cautiously.

His whole face scrunches, lip wobbling slightly as he asks again, just to be sure. Like maybe he hallucinated it. Like maybe his brain just wants it that badly.

“Yes, Satoru.” You say again with a smile blooming on your face as his dazzling blue eyes widen once more.

Oh.

Oh no.

That’s it. That’s the end of him.

His grin bursts onto his face like sunlight cracking through the morning curtains, blinding and boyish and a little watery around the edges. He laughs, half-breathless, half-disbelieving, as he pulls you in.

You squeal a little, giggling into his neck, and he just keeps kissing you. Your cheeks. Your forehead. Your nose. Every little part of you he can reach, it’s precious.

“Okay. Okay,” he pants between kisses, voice breathy and light. “We’re gonna be so good at this. I’ll read the books. I’ll learn how to swaddle. I’ll install those stupid baby locks on the cabinets even though I’ll hate them. I’ll be so annoying, baby - I’ll cry at the ultrasound. I’m gonna cry at everything.”

You laugh again, fingers threading into his fluffy white hair, and he genuinely considers proposing again right then and there.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, his voice pitching higher. “Do you wanna start now? Or later? I mean, no pressure, we can just nap. Totally just nap. But if you wanna start now, like. I am very good at practicing. Extremely good. Ask anyone, wait no don’t ask anyone, but - ”

You cut him off with another kiss.

This one’s deeper. Wetter. Your mouth warm against his and a little smug, and all he can do is moan softly into it and melt.

He is so. Screwed.

As he curls around you under the blankets - your laugh still dancing in his ears, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your hip - Satoru falls in love with you all over again.

And all he can think is, I get to do this. With you. Forever.

You kiss him again. Moving to straddle on top of him.

Slower this time. A little deeper. One hand tangled in his soft, snowy hair, the other sliding down under his silly shirt to touch his bare chest, tracing the lean lines and dips, places you already know by heart. He groans against your mouth, and when he opens his eyes, those impossibly bright baby blues are already glazed with something warm and adoring.

“Wait,” he breathes, breath tickling your lips as he leans back just enough to look at you. “You’re not just saying yes so you can jump me, right?”

You blink up at him, thighs spread over the sharp V of his hips. Your fingertips rest just over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I mean,” you murmur, voice all teasing honey, “why can’t it be both?”

His whole face flushes. Pale skin blooming pink from his ears to his throat. His hands, big and warm, squeeze your hips like instinct, thumbs stroking the soft curve. Comforting.

“God,” he mumbles, a laugh caught in the back of his throat as you shift your hips and roll against the thick shape of him through his boxers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tug his shirt over his head, and the moment it’s off, he’s on you. Kissing you hungrily - wet and warm and open-mouthed as he lays you back into the mattress. His fingers skate beneath your shirt, lifting the fabric so he can mouth at your chest, dragging kisses across your skin like each one could spell out his devotion.

He doesn’t even let you undress yourself, won’t let you lift a finger. He needs to do it. Needs to watch every inch of skin reveal itself under his trembling hands like it’s the first time all over again. Your clothes are peeled away with care, your panties tossed somewhere behind him without a second thought. His fingers slip between your thighs, finding that sensitive little nub with a practiced, aching touch.

“Don’t hide from me,” he breathes, voice thick, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you. I love you so much. Let me see all of you.”

And when he finally pushes inside, slow and deep, thick cock stretching you open with a low moan whispered into your neck, he doesn’t move. Not right away. Just breathes. Just holds you.

“Feels too good,” he murmurs, voice trembling. “I - fuck, I love you so much.”

His body rocks against yours slowly, each thrust deeper than the last, his pelvis brushing yours just right as he holds you close. One hand cradles the back of your neck. The other… slides low.

Calloused fingertips splay across your lower belly, right where the bulge of him presses with each thrust.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all round and soft,” he whispers, kissing the shell of your ear. “Gonna look so fuckin’ good with my baby in you.”

Your breath stutters. His hand stays there, palm pressed flat to your stomach as he moves inside you, like he’s trying to imagine it, already seeing the future blooming beneath his touch.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs between kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, the wet corners of your eyes. “You won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll do it all, baby. Just let me give this to you.”

You moan his name and he loses rhythm. hips stuttering, face buried in your shoulder as he whispers it again and again:

Please let it take. Please. Please.

Even after he cums, deep, slow, and unbearably warm, staying inside as if he can will the pregnancy into existence, he doesn’t stop touching your belly. Doesn’t stop kissing your cheeks. Doesn’t stop whispering promises into your skin.

You and me and a baby. Just us. Just ours. Please.

You can feel him still trembling, his arms wound around you like a vise, cheek smushed against your chest, the damp tips of his snowy hair sticking to your collarbones. Breath still shaky, puffing out against your skin as he presses another kiss just under your jaw, then one to your shoulder, then back to your collarbone. Like he can’t pick a favorite part of you. Like he needs to worship every inch of where he just poured himself.

You shift a little beneath him, sticky, flushed, a touch overheated, and he immediately lets out a soft, panicked sound.

“Nooo, wait,” he whines, arms tightening around your waist as his head lifts just enough for you to see the ridiculous, sleepy pout pulling at his pretty mouth. His lashes are fluttery and wet. His cheeks are pink. His eyes - still ocean-deep and dazed - search your face like you’ve just threatened to leave him forever.

“Satoru,” you breathe, voice fond and exasperated all at once. “I’m hot.”

“You’re always hot,” he mumbles into your throat, dead serious.

You try to wriggle again, and he just grabs your hand, gently, but fast, like you were about to disappear into the ether, and laces his fingers with yours, clutching it to his chest.

His heart is racing.

“Just a little longer,” he pleads, voice raw and boyish and thick with love. “Ten minutes. Five. Two. I just wanna stay like this…”

You sigh, but your hand squeezes his.

He beams. Full-blown sunshine. His legs tangle tighter with yours beneath the blanket as he shifts to kiss your wrist, then your knuckles, and then your shoulder again. He’s still inside you, still warm and soft, buried as deep as your heartbeat.

His voice is quieter now, breathless and thick with something aching.

“You’d be so beautiful pregnant,” he murmurs against your skin. “You already are. But like. More. Like glowing. Full. Happy. I’d kiss your belly every morning. Rub your feet. Tie your shoes for you. You wouldn’t have to do anything. Just sit there and look pretty and let me take care of you.”

You blink up at the ceiling, trying not to cry from how gently pathetic he sounds.

“I’ll wake up with you every night,” he continues softly. “Even if I’m on a mission, I’ll come back and rock the baby. I’ll be the one who changes the diapers. You can sleep in. I’ll do it all. Just - just let me have this, baby.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already snuggling impossibly closer, wrapping his arms tighter around you and nosing at your jaw like a needy cat. The hold is warm. A little sweaty. Definitely clingy. But it’s Satoru. Your Satoru. So in love he can’t see straight. So scared you’ll vanish if he lets go. So sure that this is it. This is home.

He murmurs again, so quiet you almost miss it.

“Happy Mother's Day.”

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

fool for you

fratboy!Johnny x f!reader

summary: Johnny has decided that enough is enough! He can’t stop thinking about you and he needs to do something about it! Well… it’s so much easier said than done

word count: 4.4k

warnings: profanity

a/n: fic is set in our new and beloved, fratboy!Johnny universe and will chronologically follow after this post! and oh my gosh yes! stop pestering me! I did name this after linger by the cranberries!

divider creds to roseraris <3

taglist! @severeanxietyissues @neozon3nha @bluedbliss @lovesuhng @wishpid @myfavoritedelusion @onlyrosyjohnny @soonnypeach @noname9392 @sunghoonsgfreal @mmjhh1998 @thedaisyarchive @ohwowzersthatscool @greenyweirdo @127jfam

Johnny wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt this restless in his whole life. How is it that his life had gone from normal, boring, standard, to a complete mess simply because he’d talked to you? You, the girl he hadn’t so much as spoken more than two minutes with him in the years that he first saw you and now you lived in his head! He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he constantly hoped he’d see you again on campus, he wished you’d come to the house again. 

He didn’t think he’d ever been this infatuated before. He felt like a kid with a crush all over again. He wasn’t like any of the stereotypical frat guys who jumped from girl to girl. No, Johnny was more of a boyfriend kid of guy and he hadn’t had a relationship since he and his high school girlfriend ended things before going to opposite end of the country for college. Was it so bad that he wanted a timeless love like his parents? Was it so bad that he wanted to find his other half? The person who would know him better than anyone else and love him for who he was.

Less than an hour spent together and you had completely taken over his thoughts. When would he see you again? What was your favorite color? What was your favorite class? Did you like him as much as he liked you? He sure hoped you did.

He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling while he tried and failed to fall asleep. Why was his brain even so focused on memories of you in the class you shared during his second semester? He could remember vivid images of you, or more, the back of your head. His mind thought back to one specific moment where the class had been tasked with some kind of whole class, lazy activity. The professor, who looked worse for wear, had kicked his feet up on his desk, displayed the instructions on the projector screen and knocked out for the entirety of the class. 

Johnny remembered walking around the auditorium, filling out his worksheet with only one space left to fill out. Nobody that he’d spoken to knew the answer, since none of them had read the last chapter like they were supposed to. He knew he should have done his homework, he probably could have been out of class already, but he’d gotten caught up in frat stuff. Johnny perked his head up, making his way down the stairs and toward the row that was just two rows away from his own row, right to where you were sitting alone and diligently filling out the worksheet with your head ducked down. 

Slowly, Johnny lowered himself into the seat beside you so as to not startle you, “hey.”

Still, you jumped in your seat, having completely missed how his tall frame slipped beside you so seamlessly and quietly. He watches as your hand spreads over your chest in your shock. Your cheeks bloom with warmth and he smiles softly, you’re really pretty. Seeing you up close and not in passing, not from the back, he feels a part of him fall hard for you. 

Your voice is prettier than any song he’s ever heard, even as you laugh shyly, “you scared me.”

He chokes on his words, is that his heart pounding in his ears or is someone banging on the door? Are everyone’s eyes as gorgeous as yours? He clears his throat, blinking a few times to refocus himself, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just uh, I need some help answering the last question on the worksheet. I asked a bunch of people and no one knows the answer. Can you help me?”

“Oh, yeah! That question was hidden somewhere in the last few pages of the chapter, but I actually happened to make a note of it…” you tell Johnny as you flip through your notebook to find the page. 

He can only watch and admire your dedication to passing this class, even if it is a general requirements class. You slide your notebook over to him and he admires your neat scrawl and organized notes. “Here it is,” you tell him softly as you point out the line with the information he needs. 

Johnny copies down the information and smiles at you gratefully, “thank you so much. I’m usually so on top of my assignments, but I guess I got carried away with all the frat stuff I have going on.”

You cock your head to the side with a soft furrow in your brows, “I’m not judging you at all. It’s okay to be busy with things. The homework wasn’t even homework anyway so it’s really no bother at all.”

His body is reacting in that weird way again, but worse than usual. Probably because he’s doing more than just looking at you this time. He’s actually talking to you! A real conversation! His heart is thumping hard and fast in his chest as he forces his brain to remember to breathe! He chuckles softly, “well, I appreciate the help anyway.”

You nod as you pack up your things and stand from your seat with your backpack over our shoulder. “It’s no problem. Have a good one,” you tell him before you walk away from him to leave the lecture hall. 

The memory brings a smile onto Johnny’s face as he drifts off to sleep with thoughts of you on his mind. 

The next time he sees you, it’s not even planned. He’s just come back from a run when he walks past Mark on his way out of the door. Johnny looks at Mark in confusion, “what’s up? I thought you didn’t have class on Thursdays.”

Mark sighs, “I don’t but you guys are up my ass about going to my tutoring sessions so…”

Johnny lets out a laugh, “I think you mean that we’re up your ass about succeeding. Nu Chi doesn't keep idiots around.”

“That’s debatable,” Mark replies with a laugh, “I’m off to the library so I won’t be late. I’ve kept my tutor waiting for too many sessions already. See you later, bro.”

The door shuts and Johnny stands in the entryway for less than a second before he’s sprinting up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He pushes someone out of his way with a shout of “sorry!” He rushes into the bathroom and forces himself into an ice cold shower to wash the sweat and stink off his body. 

He knows he’s dripping water all down the hall as he runs to his room to get dressed. He knows he’s yelled at his brothers for this before, but he has a very limited amount of time to meet you at the library! You wouldn’t be tutoring Mark forever!

He finds one of his nicer t-shirts hanging in the closet, a clean pair of jeans and tucks his wet hair under a backwards cap before slipping on his shoes and making his way out of the house. He’s hustling across campus trying not to sweat while practicing what he’s going to say to you. He feels like a total idiot right now. He’s never been the kind of person to be nervous about meeting anyone. He’s always confident and charismatic, even though you’re his social opposite, he finds that he’s not himself. It’s kind of a fun feeling to experience again. 

He slows his stroll as he walks through the library, trying to look casual as he peeks into every study room, examines every table on the first floor, on the second floor, and finally, the third floor. He peeks his head to take a look in what was, of course, the last study room on this floor. He finds you and Mark looking at your laptop and taking notes. 

Johnny takes a deep breath and straightens out his clothes before freezing. Shit, what was his excuse for being here even going to be? ‘Hey there, I was just casually prowling the third floor of the library, mind if I join?’ No way! He pulls a random notebook from his backpack before knocking on the glass door with a friendly smile. He pushes the door open, “hey, sorry to interrupt. Mark, you left your notebook at the house, I wasn’t sure if you needed it.”

You look over at Mark with a confused look on your face and Mark looks at Johnny with a matching look of confusion, “I have my notebooks. That’s not mine.”

“Oh, well…” Johnny gulps nervously with sweaty palms, “I just wanted to be safe. I want you to do your best Markie.”

Mark’s face twists into a look of disgust, “since when have you ever called me Marki-”

Johnny coughs, cutting Mark off, “well, since I’m here. You guy’s don't mind if I just stay, do you? I’ll be quiet and I’ve got some studying to do of my own anyway.”

“That’s fine,” you nod slowly, returning to Mark.

Johnny spends about an hour sitting on the opposite end of the table from you, pretending to study. Really, his mind is busy working out the conversation he wants to have with you when your session with Mark is done. 

“So I guess, when in doubt, just add as many details about this time period as you can. I think your professor is likely to focus on the areas we covered today for the essay question, but don’t hold me to it. Do you have any questions before we wrap up?” Johnny hears you ask Mark.

Mark laughs as he packs his things up, “yo, I’m actually feeling really good about this test! Thank you, dude.”

Your laugh makes Johnny’s heart skip a beat as you help Mark gather his things and smile up at him, “It’s my job Mark, it’s really no problem. Good luck on your test and let me know how it goes.”

Mark leaves the study room, but not without a look of pure and utter suspicion thrown in Johnny’s direction before he leaves the two of you alone in the study room. Johnny clears his throat, “hey, so are you- you doing anything after-”

Someone clears their throat and Johnny turns to find a girl waiting in the doorway. Johnny’s eyes flit over to you to find that you’re already looking at him with wide eyes, “I’m sorry Johnny, I have another tutoring session right now.”

Johnny’s mouth snaps shut and he nods awkwardly, grabbing his backpack and making his way past the girl quickly. In an hour he’s going to feel like a major idiot for trying and failing to ask you out. He should have just spit it out! ‘Hey! Please go out with me! Please! I will beg!’ But he didn’t and somehow he didn’t feel like a loser quite yet… Mostly because, well, this was going to make him sound like a total dweeb, but you said his name! Was it possible to have two new favorite sounds upon the first time hearing them? Your laugh and his name on your lips.

If he’d have looked over his shoulder while he was leaving the room, he’d have seen you staring at his back as he left. He’d have seen how your eyes were wide and tracked his form until he was completely out of sight. Then consequently seen your next student bumping your arm and teasing you while you hid your face in your hands.

He walks back to the frat house with an extra pep in his step, though as soon as he opens the door, there’s Mark with a smug look on his face, “dude, you are so fucking lame. Really? ‘You forgot your notebook Markie.’” Mark’s face twists into an unimpressed smirk while he holds up the same notebook that Johnny had used as an excuse. A notebook that clearly read ‘JOHNNY’ in Yuta’s signature tag style. Johnny swallows as his cheeks get hot, “you didn’t show her that did you?”

Mark chuckles, “nah, you were smart enough to only show the back of the notebook. She’s not hard to talk to, you know?”

Johnny drags a hand down his face, “she is to me. Only God knows why.”

“You got it bad, bro. Pull yourself together,” Mark laughs brightly as he shakes Johnny by the shoulders.

Very rarely does Johnny like to admit that Mark is correct, but Mark is right this time. He does have it bad, so incredibly horrendously bad for you. He’s no longer keeping an eye out for you, no, he’s “casually” walking across campus to the humanities and social science buildings because that’s where your classes are more likely to be held. 

It’s a Monday when he sees you again. A whole two and a half weeks since he last tried to ask you out. His classes have already finished for the day, but he finds himself making the familiar walk across campus toward the humanities building. The sky is warm and the sun feels nice on his skin as he strolls and swipes through his phone. In the blink of an eye his phone is falling to the floor as his body collides with another. 

“Oh shoot, I am so sorry,” he hears the other person say. Not just any other person, you. He gulps, falling to his knees beside you as you gather all your papers and books back into a neat pile. He can hear your nervous rambling, “I’m really sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. I’m just running late on my way to the library and— Johnny? What are you doing on this side of campus?”

Johnny isn’t even thinking of a response because while he was listening to you speak, he wasn't listening to what you were really saying. His brain was too busy memorizing the timbre and tone of your voice to focus on any words. It takes his brain a whole minute to process your question all while he stares at you blankly. He clears his throat, right, what was he doing over here, “I… the… I like that bathrooms over here…” What the hell, John?! The bathrooms?!

You giggle softly, “the bathrooms? Surely, the engineering building would have the nicest bathrooms since that building is the newest.”

Oh. You actually bought that flimsy excuse. He coughs softly, “are you… are you doing anything right now?” Wait a second, did your fingers just brush against his? Why was a simple brush of your fingers against making his heart race? What the heck was up with him?

“Yeah, actually, I’m on my way to another tutoring session,” you answer as you pile all your things into your arms before standing. 

Johnny stands up slowly, looking down at you as his eyes trace over every small detail on your face, every curve and every edge. His eyes drag over the curve of your lips, the lashes that line your eyes, and the way your cheeks round as you smile up at him. He blinks slowly, once, twice… what was it about you that made him act like such a fool? Why didn’t his brain work how it was supposed to around you? “Right,” he shakes his head with a smile, “of course. I’m sorry for making you later.”

Your brows furrow just slightly before you smile up at him in such a sweet way that he might just feel his pupils turning into hearts. Your hand comes up to squeeze his forearm. Great, now he’s a puddle from a simple squeeze of your hand. “You get this really faraway look in your eye when you look at me. We’ll have to talk about that next time we see each other,” you tell him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard before hustling away like you always do. 

He doesn’t even care if you see him if you choose to turn away, but he hunches over, one hand gripping his t-shirt as he tries to catch his breath. Fuck, this was the best feeling in the world, being around you, looking at you, talking to you. And was it just his imagination or did your hand actually linger when you squeezed his arm? 

His train of thought is interrupted when someone coughs, “dude, are you having an asthma attack or something?”

“Something better,” Johnny breathes out.

The person shakes their head, “dude, you’re strange.”

Johnny has been practicing asking people out for a week now. Not only in the mirror, when he showers, before bed, to his pillow, his teammates, and also to every frat brother in the house. It helps him to develop a more well-rounded proposal since he gets so many types of feedback. When Mark and Haechan tell him it’s perfect, he goes to Taeyong to really get it the best it can be. What do those losers know anyway?

He’s thinking about you every second of the day and for some reason, manifesting your presence hasn’t worked like it has these last few times. He still walks around your class building, he keeps an eye out for Mark heading out for tutoring, and even walks around the library for a couple hours a few days. Nothing. Where could you have disappeared to? 

He knows that you’re probably busy with his own classes and tests, but.. he just misses you. It’s not even like the two of you have had any real conversations of substance, but the way you make him feel? It’s addicting. Not in a crazy way, but in a way that makes his heart beat a whole lot faster than running a few laps around the basketball court and feels a hell of a lot better. This must be the kind of feeling he remembers his dad explaining to him when he was a kid. 

Back when Johnny was a tween he’d gone to school with a bouquet of flowers to confess his crush on a girl from his science class. She had turned him down, kept the flowers, and shamelessly asked if his friend was looking for a girlfriend. Johnny had faked a stomach ache, not letting a single tear fall until he was at home and in his dad’s arms. 

“The right person for you won’t make you feel like this, Son,” his dad says soothingly as he rubs a calming hand up and down Johnny’s back, “Look, when I met your mom I felt like I was going crazy. Every time I saw her my heart would beat like crazy, I thought about her all the time, and every time she so much as looked at me I felt like I was on top of the world. When you find the right person you’ll feel all these things and more and they’ll feel the same way. This is just one of life’s lessons. I know it hurts now, but when the real thing comes along, it will feel so much better.”

Johnny’s been thinking about this conversation a lot. He wonders if, once again, he’s throwing himself into the fire to be burned. He wonders if this will just be another learning lesson on the journey to finding The One, and he starts to get really insecure. This is a feeling that Johnny rarely ever experiences, but when he really thinks about it… have you even shown him any romantic interest or just basic kindness? Did your touch linger? Did you stare a little too long? Did you even actually blush the first time you both made conversation? Whatever. He pushes the thought out of his head and instead forces himself to focus on his upcoming basketball game. He can’t distract himself with these thoughts when he needs to be in his basketball mindset. There’s no room in his head to be insecure or to overthink things. He’s not usually the kind of person to think this anxiously so he takes a deep breath and moves on.

There’s just a couple minutes left of the game, Johnny’s standing at the free throw line, exhaling to calm his nerves while he spins the ball in his hands. The feel of the textured rubber, the smell of the gym, the sight of his teammates and competitors has a familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. His eyes flicker to the crowd on the left, then the right, and back to the hoop-- but wait, did he see that right? Yeah his frat brothers are there, he sees some people from his classes, but who is that sitting next to Mark? He blinks hard, squinting as he sees Mark pointing at the court and saying something to… you! 

You’re at his game, you’re watching him play, you’re here! It’s a complete shock to see you here. This is the last place he’d expect to see you, but Johnny smiles to himself and feels a whole new sense of confidence when he hears the referee blow his whistle. Johnny sinks not one, not two, but all three free throws with just a few seconds of the game to go. He’s playing better than he’s ever played and he’s already one of the best players on the team. Is it a little embarrassing to admit that it’s because you’re watching? Yeah, but he’s not going to admit it. 

The game ends with a victory by a small margin, but it’s a win nonetheless. His teammates immediately go to their water bottles, coach or girlfriends, but Johnny’s heading over to you. He’s making his way through the crowds accepting congratulations and claps on the back with a grateful smile before he’s walking right up the bleachers and right over to you. His frat brothers have mischievous smiles on their faces and thankfully have the decency to disperse not too far away while Johnny stops just a foot away from you. 

“You-you’re here!” Johnny smiles brightly.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, smiling as you drop your gaze to your feet, “yeah, I figured it was time to branch out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, did you have a good time? You caught me on a good day, heard coach say it was the best I’ve ever played,” Johnny tells you earnestly. 

You look up and Johnny tries to keep his breathing normal at the smile on your face. You’re just so pretty up close. He finds himself distractedly counting every beauty mark on your face and each variation of color in your pupils. You’re breathtaking. He blinks hard, forcing himself to listen to your melodic voice, “I have I admit, I don’t know a whole lot about basketball so Mark had to explain a lot of it to me. He said you did a good job and I know enough to know that you scored most of the points… so congrats!”

He licks his lips, feeling his heartbeat pounding right in the base of his neck. What better moment will there be than now? “Hey, do you want to go out with me? Like on a date… please,” Johnny manages to breathe out. 

Your eyes widen, jaw falling open the slightest bit, “you like me back?”

Johnny chokes, “you like me?!”

“I thought I was being obvious,” you murmur shyly, once again dropping your gaze to look at your feet. 

Johnny laughs a breathy laugh. It’s not malicious or teasing but it’s a laugh of relief. He reaches out and cups your cheeks, guiding your face up to meet his gaze. “I have been pining over you since the first time I talked to you. I feel like I’ve been going crazy every day and acting like a total fool— an idiot! All my stupidity just to find out that you’ve liked me back.”

“Honestly,” you tell him quietly, “I had a feeling you liked me.”

“How?!” Johnny asks, his thumb caressing the high point of your cheek.

You laugh softly and Johnny feels his heart skip a beat, “the humanities building doesn’t have bathrooms, John.”

He feels his face blush bright red as he staggers back and plants himself in a seat. He drags his hands through his hair and down his face with an embarrassed groan, “and you didn’t tell me? I really am an idiot!”

You giggle as you sit beside him, rubbing his upper arm which really doesn't help the blush on his cheeks but is something that he very quickly learns he really likes. You sigh, bumping his shoulder with your own playfully, “if it helps, I feel like an idiot too because my flirting wasn’t enough either. Clearly. We were both somewhat clueless.”

“What flirting?” Johnny asks with his brows furrowed softly.

“I looked at you a lot, I touched your arm that one time— twice actually, I came to your basketball game…” you list off as if these are the most obvious acts to have ever been done.

“Oh, Honey,” Johnny chuckles with a shake of his head, “luckily, with me you’ll get plenty of opportunities to work on that flirting of yours.”

You hide your face behind your hands as you whine embarrassingly. He catches your wrist gently and pulls your hand away just far enough to press a kiss to your cheek, “so, was that a yes? You’ll go on a date with me?”

Your voice is quiet but it’s loud enough to have Johnny standing from his seat and cheering when you murmur, “yes I want to go on date with you.”

“Yes!” You hear the guys around you cheer. You glance behind Johnny and find Mark fist pumping. You laugh quietly and lean into Johnny so your head rests on his shoulder and your arm is pressed up against his.

“Don’t take this the wrong way at all,” Johnny tells you, “but I am not worthy to have you pressed up against me right now. I am dripping with sweat, I smell, and I don’t even look good right now.”

“I’d argue that you actually look very good right now,” you reply before clapping a hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

Johnny’s head snaps in your direction with his eyes widened in shock, “now that’s flirting! Yes!”

a/n: feedback is appreciated and I'm adding the first date fic to my to do list!

[i-really-like-phrogs]

This is more than a war on kids shows, this is more than a war on whether or not we get to show gay people or black children on TV.

I don’t usually get political on here, but let me give you a history lesson:

The Holocaust did not start with the death camps and blitzkrieg as we know it now.

The Holocaust started with bans and burnings. Music, Books, anything created by Jewish people were thrown into fires and destroyed.

This was because reading their stories and the things they made may cause sympathy and educate the kids about what these individuals were experiencing. And worse, it might give the minorities the power to speak out. So what did they do? Burn it, ban it. It silenced the voices they didn’t want heard, and made sure it couldn’t fall on ears that could help.

Second, Hitler did not walk in and say “what’s up, fuckers, I’m in charge now”. He was VOTED IN. Funny enough, Germany was experiencing times of economic hardship, particularly due to inflation. There is an image of children from that era using stacks of money to play with instead of toys, because it was easier to let them afford to give them real toys.

So what did Hitler promise? He promised the German people that he’d fix the economic hardship, and restore the country to it’s “former glory”, and appealing to nationalists.

Sound familiar? Stay with me.

The Holocaust did not start with the ovens and death camps. Prisoners were deported to ghettos, before being transported into camps with terrible conditions.

Mass deportations? Got it.

Then, and ONLY then, when no one gave a shit, when the public turned their eye, when any education or speaking out was silenced, then the powers that be had the freedom to commit the terror and genocide that ended the lives of millions of prisoners.

This is not a fight of Right Versus Left. This is not a fight to see gay people on TV. This isn’t even a fight to keep a TV channel.

He is cutting funding to our museums, our educational institutions, and our public media, anything that does not spout what he wants. By cutting that funding, he limits their power of reach, public access to knowledge, and is tampering with what we do and do not get to see.

Regardless of your political standing— it doesn’t take three eyes to see that this is fucking tyranny. If you don’t pay attention to our history or turn the other way when you see it happening, you are part of why it repeats itself.

if you think that fascism and totalitarianism can’t come back, you better think again.

If you don’t want to be the villain in our history books, Do. Your. Part. ‘Educate yourself, do your own research, educate others— Donate if you can, create posts, spread awareness, organize protests— ANYTHING is better than nothing.

Even if all you can do is pick up a history book, do it.

If you want to know more about what I’m talking about, here are FREE resources of Nazi history and Holocaust survivor tales documenting most of the things I mentioned. Read for yourself, fact check me if you want, I’ll be grateful for it. Please, please, know the signs and help us stop it from ever happening again.

Spread the word.

[captainpriceslilwife]

pt. 2 of the well-loved gaz x insecure!reader post!! (This is kind of a bridge to pt. 3, so bear with me PLEASE! I have more ideas for the next part, but I needed to get there first lol...hopefully this is good idk im nervous abt my newfound audience)

The rest of his night passed in a daze. He couldn’t stop stealing glances at the tiny little picture on your license while Johnny and Simon argued with each other about what he should do to try to win you back - but he could barely hear a word they were saying as he wiped away the sticky-sweet drink that was still dripping down his face.

“Ah’d give her a second ta calm down, ya ken? Go in the mornin’ and give her a chance to find her head.” 

“Showin' up at her place unannounced after hanging onto her shit all nigh'? Yeah, that’d leave a good impression, wouldn’ it? No wonder you can’t get a bird, Johnny. Scarin’ ‘em all off.” 

“Ach, ye’d know what tha’s like, wouldn’ ye? Spooky fuckin’ bastard. Ah bet women run the second they see tha' stupid fuckin' mask-” 

"Whatever. Gaz, just give it to the bartender, yeah? Clearly she doesn't like ya'. She'll come back for it."

In the end, he ends up taking Johnny’s advice and decides to return your wallet in the morning – which maybe wasn't his smartest move. Especially since now he doesn’t have a lick of alcohol flowing through his system to calm him down as he walks along the sidewalk towards your place. He’s sure he looks crazy to everyone he passes – muttering to himself to try to coach himself through what he’ll say to you. 

“Hey! Nah, uh…hello, how are you? No, I- fuck…” He shakes his head as he looks down at your wallet, twiddling the zipper between his fingers as he mumbles under his breath. “Hi, I’m Kyle…I’m the one who, um…who made you...cry last night. Ah, shit.” 

He's never felt this way about a girl before - like a nervous, stuttering schoolboy. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and he can feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck when he suddenly finds himself standing in front of your door.

You've got a sweet little welcome mat - covered in sunflowers and loopy letters - and he notices all the pots filled with plants and flowers that scatter around near your door. God, he's already thinking that you're the most precious thing in the world.

He doesn't know what it is about you that's affecting him so much. Is it because you rejected him? Is it a challenge to him? Does he just feel guilty? Or maybe it's because, for the first time ever, he's gone after a girl that he actually has to figure out. Women have always thrown themselves at him the moment he flashed a smile their way. But you...all you did was throw a drink in his face.

It takes him nearly a full minute before he finally knocks on your door, and he can't seem to figure out what to do with his hands as he waits for the sound of your soft, thudding footsteps to reach the door.

You're still puffy from crying yourself to sleep last night, but you open the door with a polite smile anyway - donned in your oversized cat pajamas without an ounce of makeup on - but your smile quickly falls when you recognize the man standing on your doorstep.

The unfortunately beautiful man who had woken up every insecurity you had in less than a minute of talking to you.

Your expression seems to cycle through a million emotions as you try to comprehend how he could possibly be here, but once you notice the teal wallet clutched in his hand, realization settles on your features as the embarrassment hits you.

He stands silent for a moment as he takes in how gorgeous you are despite your slightly disheveled appearance, and he can barely form a sentence as he lifts up your wallet with a sheepish smile. "You, uh…you left this at the bar, um…last night. Got your address from your, uh...your I.D.” Christ, he's lost all sense of charisma hasn't he? He holds onto the wallet for a horrifyingly awkward amount of time as he stares blankly at you, but he finally comes to his senses when you mumble out a quiet 'oh, thanks' and reach out to take it.

“I’m Kyle, by the way.” 

He's never seen a girl look at him with such guardedness before - with your arms crossed protectively over your chest as you give him a tense smile. He can't tell if it's because of the whole incident from the night before, or if you're just freaked out that a total stranger went through all the effort to bring your wallet directly to where you live.

Probably both.

You clearly return his greeting just to be polite, murmuring your name quietly as you place your wallet off to the side.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He lets out an awkward laugh, but quickly backtracks when you shoot him a funny look. “I mean, from your license! I-It’s got your name on it. I only know it because it's...it's on the license.” He stutters out quickly as he shoves his hands into his pockets. God, he's losing it. His heart feels like it's going to explode. “I, um…it’s a gorgeous name, by the way. Suits you, you know?” 

The compliment slips out naturally, but it only makes you tense up even more, and you suck in a tight breath as you begin to shift on your feet. Your fingers are itching to reach for the door to slam it in his face - arrogant prick thinking he can keep up his act from last night even though he practically sent you into a fit - but he interrupts your spiraling thoughts with a heavy sigh as he drops his charming smile.

“Hey, I...I just really wanted to say that I'm sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you like that last night.” His demeanor changes so drastically that you can't help but soften a bit, melting underneath his warm, pleading eyes enough to listen to him. "I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding...I wasn't making fun of you, love. Honest."

He seems so genuine about it that you can't help but feel a bit guilty. You had tossed and turned all night thinking about how shocked he had looked after your little outburst. You tried to stave of your regret by telling yourself that he had come over to you only to make fun of you like everyone else does, so technically he deserved it - but now you weren't so sure.

“Oh, well…I’m sorry for, you know…throwing my drink in your face.” You murmur sheepishly as you look down at your welcome mat - tracing one of the flowers with your fuzzy slipper before tilting your head back up to look at him with burning cheeks. “Wasn’t very mature of me."

“No, no, no...it's fine, really! If anything, I'm sorry you had to waste your drink on me. I mean, I know how pricey that place can get.” He lets out another laugh, but it's a bit less tense this time, especially when he sees the way your lips almost quirk up into a smile. It makes him feel bold enough to try to bring back the charm, and he can't stop himself from asking you, “You know…maybe I could, um…make it up to you sometime? Could buy you another drink?” 

But once again, you pause. His persistence only makes you more suspicious of his motives, and it shows in how you tighten your arms across your chest. He can see your eyes flash with a pang of hurt, and he feels his heart clench as he fumbles over himself, growing less sure by the second. “O-Or just a coffee, maybe?” 

“...Look, Kyle…” His heart leaps in his chest at the sound of his name on your lips, but your guarded tone is enough to smother the warm, fluttery feeling that had been building in his stomach. “Thanks for bringing me my wallet, but you’re wasting your time. I don’t know what kind of bet you have going with your friends, but I’m not going to fall for it, okay? I'm not...I'm not stupid.” 

Stupid? His expression falls once more, and he gives you the most genuine look he can muster as he speaks up quietly. “I...I don't think you're stupid. There’s no bet, love. Honest.”

“A dare, then.” 

“No dare, either.” 

You let out a frustrated sigh and roll your eyes a bit before resting your hand on your hip, but your irritated demeanor doesn't hide the way your eyes are beginning to grow a bit watery and bloodshot as you murmur quietly. “Well, why are you doing this, then?” 

His eyebrows furrow as he looks down on you, and he can't help but shake his head in disbelief as he takes a small step towards you. God, you were absolutely breaking his heart. Did you really think it was that unbelievable that he could like you? “I already told you, love. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…and I know you don’t seem to like hearing that, but it’s true. And I know you're not just a pretty face, I just...I don't know anything else about you. But I'd like to...I'd like to get to know you.” 

You don't seem moved by his words, but he can't see how your heart begins to pound wildly in your chest, grasping onto the small bit of hope that you had desperately tried to push down. You'd spent so long trying to protect yourself from feeling this way about someone, and he's already managing to sneak past those walls you had built up.

But your mind keeps replaying every moment of disappointment you felt when it came to men 'asking you out' - how people would laugh behind your back when you would get excited for a date with a guy they all knew was just messing with you, or how a boy in your class straight-up laughed in your face when you thought he was being serious about being his date to the prom. 'Shit, she actually fell for it! Damn, I didn't think she'd have the nerve to say yes! Ah, right, well...sorry love...just havin' a bit of a laugh, yeah? All in good fun.'

No, no, no...you couldn't fall for something like this again.

He can see the look in your eyes as you stay silent, and his heart pangs with guilt when he realizes how much he's probably torturing you. He decides to put you out of your misery, so before you can open your mouth to reject him again, he raises his hand to stop you. "Yeah, alright...I understand." A pathetic smile graces his features, and you can't help but feel a bit guilty at the look of disappointment on his handsome face. "Can't blame a guy for trying though, aye?"

You can't even tell if you're disappointed or relieved that he's finally given up, but you give him a grateful smile as you nod your head in understanding. Couldn't expect a guy that looks like that to put in too much effort with someone like you, right? "Right...yeah...thank for um, understanding."

"Of course..."

God, this is awkward.

The both of you stand and stare at each other for another moment longer before he turns to leave. But just as he turns to go, he stops in his tracks and thinks to himself for a second before letting out a puff of air before turning back to you. "Don't happen to have a pen, do you, love?"

You blink in surpise at the randomness of his question, but eventually nod your head and disappear for just a second before returning with one in hand.

If only you could see how nervously he tapped his fingers against the side his leg while he waited for you to come back - a habit he only ever indulged in when he couldn't contain his anxiety on missions. Something his captain always ragged on him for.

Yeah, he was absolutely hung up on you.

He tries to ignore how soft your hand is when he takes the pen from you, but he can't ignore the way your touch zaps up through his arm and straight to his heart. And from the way you tuck your arm back against your chest with hot cheeks, he can't help but wonder if you felt it, too.

He pulls a crinkled receipt from the pocket of his jacket as he gives you a nervous smile, almost like he's waiting for you to scold him for trying again. And if it isn't the most charming thing you've ever seen... “Listen…if you change your mind-“ His hand moves quickly to scribble something on the small piece of paper, and when he hands it to you, you see his number written in handwriting that is frustratingly neat for a man in a rush. “-just let me know. No pressure, of course. I’ll fuck off if you want me to, but…just thought I’d give you the option. Don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least offer to make it up to you.” 

And you take that stupid, crinkled piece of paper from his hand against your better judgement, and to your chagrin you can feel your cheeks burning brightly enough for him to see. Luckily for you, he can't see the way your heart is dancing around in your chest at the prospect of actually having a chance with him.

"Right...ok." You mumble quietly as you stare down at his number, toying at the edges of the paper with your thumb before his voice catches your attention once more.

“Well, um…I should get going. I hope you have a good day, darling.” A part of you was horrified to realize that you didn't want him to leave just yet, but you just nod your head stiffly as he backs away from your doorstep. And god he gives you that handsome, charming smile one more time before he turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder. "I hope I get to see you again."

And you wave at him so awkwardly as he walks away, like a deer caught in headlights, but it makes his heart flutter all the same. He hopes that even if he doesn't get a chance with you, someone else will realize what a catch you are. Someone who will treat you the way you deserve. Someone like him.

It's not until much later in the day - when he's stuck in a briefing and trying not to fall asleep with Price's voice droning on johnny's already drooling on the table - that his phone vibrates in his pocket. He sneaks it out underneath the table to take a quick glance to see who could be messaging him, and his heart practically leaps out of his chest when he sees an unfamiliar number.

‘ok...maybe just one coffee.’

He can't help but smile to himself as he reads it, and before he can begin to type out a response, another message pops up on his screen. And another. And another.

'i mean, only if you're still interested, of course.'

'no pressure or anything :)'

'oh, this is y/n by the way!'

Yeah, you might be the sweetest girl he's ever met.

A/N: do I like this that much??? eehhhhhhhhhh idk. but i kept going back and forth and rewriting and deleting and i finally decided to put myself out of my misery. again, i'm so so so grateful to everyone who requested a part two for this and left support on the original post so i hope this meets everyone's standards! pls feel free to leave suggestions in my inbox or in the comments if there's anything specific you want to see (or request something else entirely)! i also wouldn't mind writing any alternate parts of the story if ppl request it so pls dont hold back! pls stay with me for pt. 3!!! also sorry if you requested to be tagged and i missed you!

Tag list: @vixyyvix, @little-mini-me-world, @miyo-0oo, @milanriol, @z-wantstowrite, @nexthyperfix

[reidrum]

darwinism

A/N: being really brave and posting this bc i wasn’t sure about it but i hope u like it! a reminder to show love to ur favorite writers/creators :) scheduling this post while im omw to halsey’s opening show tonight BUT we hit 3k and that’s so insane to me that people want to read my silly little stories thank you thank you thank you

summary: the you that broke up with spencer to follow your dreams in london isn’t the same you that returns a year later

cw: spoiler content warning at the end of this post! angst, hurt/comfort, bau!reader, ex!spencer, implications of past trauma, descriptions of torture, medical jargon, cm typical violence, throwing up, spencer is kinda mean but he loves you i promise

wc: 6k

The familiarity strikes you like a knife as you walk through the doors of the BAU. Over a year since you’ve been here and it seems nothing has changed—Hotch still surveills from his office atop the landing, Emily and Derek sit opposite each other. Even your desk has remained untouched and the way you left it, still next to the desk you’d begged to be next to.

A year since you left it all behind in pursuit of furthering your career, a shiny new position across the pond at Interpol. A year since you left behind the only family you had in D.C., the BAU. A year since you left Spencer, the love of your life.

Before you left, Spencer thought everything was going great between you both. You seemed happy, content with his company and love. Falling in love with a colleague, especially in his line of work, has its risks but he’s found that having you will always outweigh any consequence or worst scenario his mind can think of.

Spencer would never tell you they actually offered the job to him first, but he turned it down so he could stay with you. He still remembers the fight you had the night before you left, how he couldn’t understand why you would risk throwing away what you had. You knew he never would, with his multiple degrees and high caliber of success he didn’t need that extra validation. To be a mere mortal in the presence of such excellence is humbling and harrowing.

So you left.

You love him, you really did—still do. Nothing about where you were in the world would ever change that. Making the decision to leave was the hardest but you knew it would be better for your career. Spencer might never comprehend how easily you made that decision to take the job in London when it seemed like the hardest thing for him. How could he, when everything he encountered with his Midas’ touch of knowledge only served to expand his beautiful brain. When you left and parted ways, it was for good.

The thing is though, you’re back.

No one actually knew you were coming back until a week ago, when Hotch announced your return to the team as soon as you landed. The job offer was a permanent one and the details are unclear as to why you did come back so early. Bunch of sealed, redacted documents. All Spencer knows is that you are home and back here with him. Maybe not with him, but you were here and that counts for something. 

The desk next to yours is empty but clearly occupied, the satchel slouched over on the ground with a cardigan haphazardly thrown over the back of the chair. You walk up to yours and see it practically untouched, up kept even. You sling your bag off the shoulder and take inventory of your desk, your name plate and tchotchkes aligned. 

You don’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you.

“Hey.”

You still at the voice and turn slowly, “Hi, Spencer.”

He takes a good look at you, the first one he’s gotten to have of you in over a year. You look the same more or less. Your hair is longer, you’ve lost weight, you stopped wearing makeup. There’s something else surrounding you unspoken, he can’t place his finger on it.

“It’s um, it’s good to see you.” he nods awkwardly, trying not to cringe inwardly as he attempts normality.

“Likewise.” you hum.

Hotch calls your name from the landing, “Welcome back. I need everyone in the conference room in two minutes.”

You both nod, each secretly glad your interaction was cut short. 

Derek rounds your desk and opens his arms, “Good to see you, pretty girl. It’s been too quiet without you.” You try not to let your heart squeeze over the term of endearment, a stem of his nickname for Spencer coined specially for you after Derek had figured you both out.

You squeeze him back, “Missed you too, Morgan.” 

Emily loops her arm through yours as you pull back from Derek, slowly starting the walk up to the conference room. “How was London? Was the apartment okay?” Former Interpol agent perks, Emily had her own flat in London she so graciously lent to you.

“All good, Em,” you say softly, slowly trudging up the steps, “I’ll show you pictures later.”

Emily continues talking as you both get further out of earshot from Spencer, whose eyes follow until you disappear into the room. There really is something different about you that he can’t quite figure out yet, no way of even proving that something is wrong–just a sheer feeling of knowing you from the way you’ve imprinted on him. He decides it’s probably just jet lag.

“You alright, kid?” Derek nudges him, “Must be a lot for you,”

He forgot he was even still down here, “Yeah, fine. We should go,”

—

The first time Spencer noticed he didn’t think anything of it.

It’s paperwork week after a long few weeks of traveling, to everyone’s delight. In desperate need for caffeination you grab your mug from your desk and trudge to the break room to make yourself a coffee. You place a pod into the slot and press start, the machine whirring to life as it prepares to brew your lifesaving coffee. 

You’re about to bend down to the cupboard under the table when you hear footsteps. 

Spencer slows as he walks in, not wanting to startle you, “We moved the sugar by the way, it’s above the sink now.”

“Oh, thanks.” you mumble. You reach a hand up to open the cupboard, hiding a wince as you stretch up.

He clocks the change in your face immediately, “Are you okay?”

Your eyes widen as you come back down and school your face back to normal, “Yeah, why?”

“You look like you’re in pain. Did you get hurt or something?” he prods, eyes looking questionably between your face and your waist. Your shirt raises slightly and he can see the tail end of what looks like a nasty scar. He attempts to walk closer but with hypervigilance on your side and great timing by the coffee machine you grab your coffee and side step him towards the door.

“Oh did I? Must’ve stretched weird this morning.” you say from the door.

“You stretch now?” he humorlessly chuckles.

“It’s important to stay limber,” Your hand subconsciously rests over your abdomen, unnaturally to the side as if you’re covering something. “Got to go, bye.”

He watches you duck out of the room, “Um, bye?”

Weird, he thinks. You didn’t even end up taking the sugar, the evidence of it still scattered on the counter. You were so quick to leave but Spencer lets himself entertain the idea that you wanted to leave so fast not to get away from him, but because he noticed a crack in your facade.

He tries to school his own face back to normal as he returns to his desk and drops two sugar packets on yours.

–

The second time he notices, it nearly breaks his heart.

It’s a hot day in the Houston precinct where you and Spencer tackle the geographical profile while the rest of the team works out the victim’s details and witnesses. It was a no brainer to pair you two together, you’d been doing geographical profiles since way before you ever got together. It’s how you both fell in love, actually. Countless hours hunched over a map, late night conversations getting weirdly philosophical, something about the way you worked together just clicked. Like you completed something he didn’t know he didn’t have, something he didn’t know he craved so subconsciously.

You made sense to him, you always do.

Things are little different post your breakup, your skill sets are still above par for crafting the geographical profile, and therefore it only served to make sense to pair you both again. He knows it’s for the better, you’ll always make sense to him—even in times like this.

You’re more defensive than he remembers, more meticulous and stubborn than his darling girl who left him. You were always stubborn, but here you were finding faults in everything. The attack sites are too scattered for an accurate comfort zone, you’d argue. The victimology doesn’t add up, you’d jab.

Since you left Spencer’s patience has diminished dramatically, even for you now as he’s about to discover. Normally he’d welcome your counterpoints with respectful criticism and counters while you both talk it out. But right now you’re arguing like you simply want to be right, like you need to be right.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Spencer sighs, “The unsub clearly is frequenting these places for a reason, and it matches the victimology perfectly. How can you not see it?”

“It doesn’t add up!” you jab, “He’s kidnapping high risk victims in a high risk environment, that goes against what we think he’s even killing for.”

His voice raises, “What he’s killing for doesn’t even matter if we can’t predict where he’s going to strike next! The next body could surface tonight, we don’t have time to be childish like this.”

“Childish? Suddenly my analysis is childish? Fuck you, Spencer.”

“Okay, look I didn’t mean—“ He reaches his hand above your figure to grab the marker atop the white board.

A normal motion for him.

But you flinch, hard.

Spencer rarely if ever yelled at you when you were together, he certainly and definitively would never lay his hands on you. Any argument you had with him was resolved civilly, safely. Even when you get disciplined at work by Hotch or Strauss they go easy on you, a stern warning and a passing Be Better.

What you did now is stitched from his nightmares. The sharp yelp you let out will ring in his ears for who knows how long. He can’t figure it out, he’s not sure if he wants to. You’re part of a team of profilers, trained to analyze micro expressions and behaviors to predict what happened. Spencer knows what it means for the way you reacted, his training clearly outlines it.

Previous trauma suffered. Reflex response. Learned.

Wherever you learned that response, it cannot be from him—it’s impossible. It’s offensive. It makes him sick to even think it could come from him, even sicker to think about where it did come from. This wasn’t you, not the you that Spencer knew and loved. 

Yet you flinched, and to his horror you’re now shaking.

He says your name like broken glass, “I…I wasn’t going to hurt you. You’re shaking, I…” He tries to move closer again, like he did in the break room, and instead of ducking out you back up and bump into the whiteboard, startling yourself further.

“N—Nothing, I’m fine. It’s fine. I…need to go get some air.” you stutter, the jitters clearly consuming you.

You run out of the precinct before he can say anything else, evading Emily’s calls and JJ’s brush of your arm as you leave.

Spencer lingers on the ghost of your figure as it haunts the door, and turns to the rest of the team sporting matching confusion. “You all saw that right?”

Morgan nods slowly, “Something’s up with her.”

“I know,” he rasps, “I’ve never seen her look so scared.” The look on your face will surely haunt him every time he blinks.

JJ speaks, “Do you think something happened in London?”

It had to, Spencer thinks. You were not like this before you left. Not skittish, not hypervigilant of your surroundings—fearing a familiar hand. 

The team looks to Hotch, knowing if someone knew it would be him. “Her records are sealed,” he mumbles, feigning professionalism yet unable to hide his concern for you, “Interpol informed me it was a need to know basis, and we were not cleared for that.”

“But she’s not okay, Hotch.” Spencer protests.

Hotch gives him a stern look, but his eyes soften in understanding, “I know, we can figure this out when we get back. For now, let her cool off and let’s focus on the case.”

Everyone exchanges uneasy looks and begrudgingly returns to their tasks.

When you return the team offers you the grace of pretending what happened didn’t even exist. You’re inwardly grateful, you know it doesn’t show on the outside. Spencer keeps an eye on you but maintains his distance lest you get triggered at his hands again. He wouldn’t survive watching you react to him so viscerally, in a way that couldn’t be further from the love he showered you in.

It’s in this moment Spencer realizes he misses you. When you left he obviously missed you, but in a way in which he knew you would return home eventually. You broke his heart by leaving, but he knew you would come back to the BAU, where you belonged. A you he honestly believes he took for granted, because it looks like that you didn’t make it home to him. Right now, he’s missing that you. The you before London. 

—

The third time he realizes, he acts on his own–you didn’t even have to do anything.

He knows something happened in London. He just can’t figure out what it is, but he’s going to.

Spencer should feel bad asking Penelope to hack into your medical records. He can’t find himself to actually care though after seeing that stab wound on your hip, and how quick you were to brush it off like it was nothing. It was massive, and by the position of it had to have required some medical intervention. When he got shot in the knee all they needed to do was stabilize his leg from the outside with a brace, yours looked dangerously close to a lung.

“Is there a reason we’re violating her privacy like this? She’s my friend, I feel icky.”

“Garcia, please.” his tone holding something deeper.

She glances at him and returns back to typing, breaking down the many firewalls of the bureau medical records.

“And…done.” a flurry of documents floods her screens, Spencer leans in closer to read them but she whispers under her breath, “Oh my god, my sweet girl.”

“What is it?”

Garcia pulls up your medical record from London, and makes the sheet bigger. The glaring title reading Emergency Room Admit. He reads the preliminary injuries of stab wounds, bruises, mild concussion.

Emergency services were called to a warehouse where you were unconscious and bleeding out. You still weren’t conscious when you were admitted, and they had to resuscitate you after you’d coded in the ambulance en route. They took you to emergency surgery, your broken ribs causing major arterial damage in your abdomen. Line after line listed another injury, another note where they performed a life saving measure on you. He couldn’t believe it, how had all of this happened and no one knew about it? How he didn’t know about it?

“She was attacked.” he mumbles in disbelief, poison hanging on the tip of his words.

Penelope says through watery tears, “How could they not tell us? This says it was nearly nine months ago.”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out shakily, “but something still feels off.”

Everything he was thinking and felt becomes obsolete as he scrolls further down to see a note that takes the final blow for him.

Miscarriage due to sustained injuries. Pt suffered stab wounds to the lower left quadrant of the abdomen, fetus not viable upon admission.

No.

No, that can’t be right.

The nausea builds in the back of his throat as he processes. He looks at the dates of the report again and anxiously does the math in his head. If your assault happened only three months after you left then—No.

All the questions begin to swirl in Spencer’s mind. Did you know you were pregnant? You didn’t tell anyone it seems, and then you chose to still stay in london for another nine months even after the incident. It made no sense, an event as traumatic as what he read you went through should have sent you right back home. Right back to him.

The nausea catches up to him and takes over his body, hurling into the nearest trash can he can find. Penelope, through sniffled sobs, attempts to rub her friend’s back as soothingly as she can. 

He wipes his mouth, “I need to talk to her. Is she still at the same address?”

“Spencer, I don’t think—“

“I don’t care what you think, Garcia. Tell me where she is.” he snaps.

Penelope widens her eyes in shock at his outburst, knowing she can’t blame him for how he’s reacting. “Y—Yeah, same address.”

He speeds out of the room, stopping by the bathroom to rinse his mouth and splash water on his face. His hands rub harshly down the sides of his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. All the color is drained from his face, nowhere in sight of returning. He doesn’t know what to feel–let alone what to think. He’s angry, hurt, confused. He’s not expecting to feel scared, yet he’s not sure what he’s scared of.

In Spencer’s life his role has always been the protector, the parentified child that had to grow up too fast to care for their sick mother. He wouldn’t have it any other way, some help would have been nice, but his 187 IQ served him better than others would in his position. Perfection, as his mother fondly called him. All he’s ever known is to protect, joining the FBI helps him continue to actualize this ability he’s honed. Meeting you gave him purpose to protect–a conscious choice he could make that wasn’t a result of his circumstance. A choice to protect you, because he loves you.

Yet his choice to let you go, to not follow you, has led him to face this awful consequence at the cost of your safety. Right now, he feels like anything but a protector.

Spencer gets in his car and drives to your apartment complex, parking in the same vacant spot he always did when he came over each time. He climbs the stairs fast and knocks harshly on your door, hearing you shuffle a minute later and opening it. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” he says urgently, moving past you to get inside.

You furrow your brows at his intrusion and mumble, moving aside passively, “No please, come in.”

You lock the door and walk towards your living room, where Spencer is pacing back and forth running his hand stressfully through his hair. He makes no effort to speak first, still in his head about everything.

“So, are you going to tell me why you showed up here?”

“I know what happened.”

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

“In London. I know what happened to you.”

Your face drops instantly and suddenly the world stops. All your windows are closed but a sharp and brisk chill runs up your spine, goosebumps erupting all over you as a pathetic defense against what feels like a vocal attack. Trapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say under your breath.

He stops pacing and faces you, “No?” he steps closer, “That’s why all your medical records are sealed shut?”

“You looked at my medical records?”

“I had to, you weren’t telling me anything.”

“Maybe because I didn’t want you to know.” you yell, “Those are private documents.”

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice it at first—you were in pain reaching for the sugar in the cupboard, suddenly you don’t wear anything shorter than pants and a long sleeve. The big scar on your torso.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—“

“You flinched. The other day.”

You falter, “What?”

“We all pretended it didn’t happen when you came back, but you know what happened. I raised my hand for something and you flinched.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you repeat less convincing this time.

He steps closer, trying to hide his hurt when you take a step back as well, “I think you know exactly what it means, and it scares you that I know now too.”

“You’re not supposed to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one’s supposed to know! I had them sealed for a reason.”

“So you were just not going to tell any of us you were attacked?”

Your face contorts, “I had to do what was safe for me. You may not understand my choices but I was counseled into believing this was the best option for me.”

“Counseled,” he laughs humorlessly, stepping towards you and staring you down, “Did this counsel inform you that notifying the father of your miscarriage wasn’t necessary?”

The bile rises in your throat, the room unhinges upon its axis as it begins to spin. “N—No, that’s not—“

“Did you tell anyone?” another step, “Were you ever going to tell me it was mine?”

“Spencer you don’t understand.”

He flails his arms in anger, “No, I fucking don’t! First you leave me behind like I meant nothing to you, but then you were pregnant with my child. You didn’t even care to tell me! I wanted a life with you, I loved you. And you just left.”

You stare at him in silence, unable to think of anything to say.

“How could you not tell me?” he whispers brokenly, “I thought you trusted me.”

“I couldn’t tell you, you have to know that.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” he pricks.

The tears well up in your eyes, “That’s not fair.”

“No? You don’t think so?” He knows he’s being mean, he can’t help it—he was supposed to protect you, even if you wouldn’t let him. His guilt is rearing its head in an ugly manner. “Was the baby even mine? Or is there something else you’re also not telling me?”

The hurt splays on your face clear as day, “Why are you being like this?” you mumble.

“I just want answers,” he exasperates, carding a stressed hand through his hair, “I want to know why you felt like you couldn’t tell me, or any of us, that you almost died nine months ago and kept living in London until now.”

Your mouth is entirely dried up, your eyes burning deeply. How long you’d been running and carrying this weight alone on your shoulders starts to reveal itself when your exhaustion finally catches up to you, begging you to wave the white flag and surrender.

You take a deep and shaky breath, “My records were sealed because it was an Interpol agent that attacked me.”

Spencer is stunned into silence. Interpol agent? 

Someone turned on the bureau—turned on you, and decided you would be the scapegoat for the brass’ wrongdoings. Someone you trusted laid their hands on you, and caused you such irreparable damage you felt compelled to carry it alone if the agencies had anything to do with it.

He’s nearly shaking with anger, “We need to report it.”

“I can’t.”

“He hurt you!”, he looks at you with disbelief, “We have to make sure they’re held responsible for it.”

“Spencer,”

“I don’t know why you’re so against it, you should know how important it is to make sure people like him don’t get away with this—“

“Spencer,” you plead.

He stops, finally meeting your eyes and faltering when he sees the tears welling and red rims forming. He takes a sharp breath, “You did report it…didn’t you?”

You can’t help the way your face drops, “I did, yeah.”

Spencer couldn’t believe it. Actually he could, he knows very well the statistics of women getting justice for assault crimes against them and how the odds are rarely stacked in their favor. Still, he feels appalled to think that the same system that he works to uphold—the same one you work for—has failed you so terribly.

If you reported it, then that means you knew your attacker.

“They didn’t know Mark was working both sides until he took me.” you whisper shakily.

Mark, the one who’d been your mentor when you were offered the job. Spencer remembers conversing with him when he was still in talks for the job too,

Spencer knows it should’ve been him instead of you. If he had just taken the job, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If he didn’t love you as much as he did to not leave you, maybe you’d be here—safe—while he worried about you from over there. The light that guides him home every night would still be shining in your eyes, and he wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of the dark ocean wondering what you would look like with the swell of his child.

How you looked, with the swell of his child.

At first Spencer is angry—at himself, at you, at the bureau for letting this happen. Then he’s just sad, over what could’ve been, what might be. Spencer would always joke that your stubbornness would lead to your downfall if he couldn’t help it. But you shut him out entirely, left him in the dark wondering if you even still loved him. Repetitively thinking about how easy it was for you to leave him alone back in Quantico. You were always too independent for your own good. It’s then another cold guttural realization stuns him—you were all alone when this happened.

“Oh, angel.” his voice cracks.

At this point, you’re just trying hard to keep it together. You weren’t expecting to have to reopen this wound again, although you should be considered a fool for thinking you could hide it from the very person you sealed it up for. You’re stubborn to a fault, constantly desperate for complete and total control over your life. Paining yourself is a valiant effort you invoke to protect others from the torturous reality you’ve spun for yourself. It seemed like the best option.

After all, a self inflicted wound is enough control for you–if you’ve already hurt yourself another cut can’t cause worse damage. Most people would show mercy at some point, not willing to cross the lines of depravity to wound you so badly. 

But you? Crossing the line leads you right back to yourself, a circle even. Boundless to the restraints of humanity and unfiltered to the consequences of shame and guilt. 

It’s why not telling Spencer was doable. Keeping it from him hurt you more than anyone could ever begin to comprehend. 

If nothing in this world can be created or destroyed then the pain you feel must be arbitrary, a remanifestation of your own being returning back to where it came from. Angry to be disturbed in the first place, entitled to return home.

Everything will always go back to the way it was. 

Even Spencer. 

Even you.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you,” you sniffle, sitting down on the couch “I really wanted to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

You whisper, “I was so embarrassed.”

He dares to step closer, “Why embarrassed?”

“I—I know they offered you the position before me,” his eyes widen as you continue, “I was so mad at you at first because you didn’t tell me, and then I realized why you didn’t take it and I felt so shitty about it. But I needed it, you know? It was supposed to be good for my career! I don’t have fancy degrees and publications and the reputation you have. You know how hard I’ve worked to get to this point? But I kept feeling like I couldn’t measure up, wouldn’t measure up no matter how hard I tried.”

“Measure up to what, baby?”

“You!” you wail, “I wanted to prove that I could do it, on my own.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone. You never did, you know that.” he says tearfully, finally taking a spot next to you.

You sniffle, “Well, I didn’t think I could. I felt so out of my element when I got there, Spence. But then Mark started watching me, helping me out where he could. He told me he saw potential in me, and made himself my mentor while I was there.”

His blood boils at the mention of Mark but lets you continue. “I…I trusted him. He said he wanted to help me, that he understood what it was like coming fresh from the States.”

“But then,” your face crumples, Spencer’s hands itch at his side to reach out for you, “I was walking to my car one night. I stayed late, because I was finishing a case study. Next thing I knew, there was a bag over my head and I couldn’t breathe.”

Spencer subconsciously inches closer, his hand ghosting the expanse of your body. “Then what happened?”

“When I woke up I was in a warehouse, they tied my hands to the chair I was sitting in. And I waited for someone to come in. Then I saw Mark.” you whisper.

His hand moves to bravely rests on yours, knowing you need all the courage you can get right now. “Was Mark the one who hurt you?”

You nod erratically, “He thought I knew something about the Silk Road, that trafficking network.”

Spencer remembers investigating the Silk Road affairs, they were slowly but surely getting every single person involved in it. You were a big help when you were here, able to pinpoint when and where these people might be hiding.

“I was telling him the truth, there wasn’t anything I knew about active Silk Road members,” you strain, “He didn’t believe me, and it wasn’t what he wanted from me anyway.”

His other hand rests on the couch ledge behind you, “What did he want, baby?”

You let out a soft whine, “I had a contact in London who knew the password to the Silk Road database. I met with him before my first day, and he told me.”

His fingers ghost your shoulder and you don’t move to his relief, letting his touch be more intentional. “But Mark knew you met him.”

You nod, “He knew I knew the password. That’s what he wanted. I—I wouldn’t give it to him, it was too dangerous to let him have it.” A sob breaks through your voice, “Everytime I said no, he’d hurt me.”

You gently pull your shirt up to reveal the scar he saw in the break room that day, but you pull it further up to reveal a few more scars and bruising that still hadn’t faded.

His breath catches like a fish on a hook. “Oh my god,” Each scar is meticulously placed, intentional. The scars have mostly healed, but the remnants of the marks are so expansive it physically pains him to think about what you suffered when they were inflicted. This wasn’t supposed to happen to you.

The guilt settles in him like a rock when he thinks about how strong you had to be to survive this. All alone in a new country with no one you could trust anymore. You’ve always been a different breed of strength, something he marveled at about you. But you’re still in the fight or flight mode of standing strong in your surroundings. A prey who knows the predator routine all too well, knowing the second you falter is when they strike.

He tucks your head into the crevice of his neck—you don’t need to be strong anymore, he’s here now.

“It looks worse than it feels, I swear.” you tug your shirt back down, “I really didn’t know I was pregnant until I woke up in the hospital, Spencer. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey no,” he shushes, closing the distance between you to gather you in his arms, “don’t even think about that okay, I’m not mad.”

“I should’ve told you.” you cry.

“I know why you didn’t, it’s okay. You were just trying to protect yourself.” Spencer hushes, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” you lament, “I shut you out.”

His hand gently runs up and down your spine, “I’m not mad at you, angel.”

“You should be.”

Another question burns his tongue, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“I wanted to, but…when I tried to report it they acted like they already knew. And I told them what happened to me, what he did, and all they said was that they’d look into it. I saw him at work the next day. I transferred to a different building the day after.” you recount, “I think there’s more Interpol agents working both sides, Spencer.”

“Does Mark still work there?”

“Yeah, I think so…What are you doing?”

He grabs his phone and opens his message thread with Penelope, drafting a text about calling the team and booking flights, “I’m telling Garcia to find flights to London.”

Your eyes widen, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m going to kill him.”

“Spencer,” you chide.

“And once the rest of the team finds out what happened I’m sure they’ll be on board with it too.”

“Please don’t do anything. I don’t want to cause any more trouble. It was nearly a year ago now, it’s okay. ” you mutter.

He pauses typing and sets his phone back down, scooching back to you and holding your face to his, unable to break eye contact with him, “No it’s not,” he says sternly, “what happened to you was not okay. Do you understand?”

“But–”

“No. You can’t do that. You won’t. This isn’t some sort of inconvenience we move past. You were taken advantage of, and someone hurt you. You did not deserve that at all.”

You pause and look at him, the tears spilling over down your cheeks. You’d spent the last year in solitude convincing yourself that it was all your fault. Your ambition was too strong, you were too eager, you should’ve been tougher. You lived a truth in which you were the problem. Spencer wasn’t there to remind you otherwise, but he’s ready to spend forever making up for lost time. “I…I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes soften and his thumbs move under your eyes, swiping gently, “No, you didn’t.” A few more quiet sobs leave you, “So why did it happen to me?” you ask meekly.

“I don’t know, angel. I really don’t.” he smooths your hair back, “I’m going to make it better, though. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

You nod and hug him tighter, letting a few more tears fall and stain his shirt. “I should be the one to tell the team, I know they’re probably wondering too.”

“They were really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry for worryin—“

“Shh,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “No more sorrys, okay?”

“Okay.” you curl into him.

“For the record,” he hesitates before he speaks, “I’ll always worry about you. Even if we’re not together, in different universes, or whatever. I’ll always take care of you, and I’ll always love you.”

“I thought you hated me.” you whisper.

“Impossible.” he kisses another part of your face he can reach.

“I love you too, thank you.”

For being here. For saving me. For still loving me.

“He’s going to pay for this, I promise.” You open your mouth to protest and Spencer continues, “He will get what’s coming to him. We’re going to make sure of it.”

You nod softly and listen to his heartbeat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, baby.”

“You know I did die in the ambulance for a few seconds.” you whisper quietly.

He swallows, “I saw that in the report. I’m so sorry, sweet girl, that must have been so scary. I know what that feels like.”

“Did you…see anything, when you died?”

From when he almost succumbed to the hands of Tobias Hankel and his father. “I saw a light, it felt warm. Enveloping. Why, did you see something?”

“Yeah,” you tuck in closer to his chest, “I saw you.”

spoiler cw: pregnancy, miscarriage, reader is tortured, reader sustains injuries

[heartsforkatsuki]

pining.  ｡°✩ k.bakugo

pov; you've been inlove with your now ex-bestfriend for 15 years

pairing: bakugo katsuki x gn!reader warnings: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, unrequited (then requited) love, emotional confrontation, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, YEARNING KATSUKI!!! word count: ~1.2k - this is my first time writing angst btw ahah

i want someone badly

maybe it was the way you stopped paying attention to him. the way you stopped orbiting around katsuki bakugo like he was the sun and you were just some helpless, burning thing.

maybe it was the way you grew into yourself. someone with their own dreams now. someone who no longer waited for him to notice them.

it didn’t matter though. not really. because the result was the same.

after years of you trailing behind katsuki — always there, always his constant — now the roles were reversed.

you’d been in each other’s lives since you were five. your moms were best friends. you grew up side by side like a pair of badly stitched twins, bickering and inseparable.

you always lit up when you saw him. always hugged him tight like it mattered. told him you loved him like it was easy, like it wasn’t killing you slowly every time he didn’t say it back.

and god, did you love him.

you thought he knew. maybe a part of you hoped if you said it enough, did enough, he’d start to love you too.

but then came senior year. and izuku — your best friend since forever — sat you down one day, looked at you with tired eyes, and said:

“we’re about to graduate, y/n. you can’t chase him forever.”

and you knew he was right.

you started remembering things that used to slide off your back. like how katsuki never hugged you unless you were crying. how he never said “i love you” — not even in a joking way. how he’d call you annoying in front of people like it was funny. like you were a bit much.

you used to think it was just how he was. now, you weren’t so sure.

so you pulled away. slowly. quietly.

no more dropping by his dorm after class. no more late-night game sessions. no more laughing until you couldn’t breathe.

you made excuses. “my mom needed help.” “i’m not feeling well.” “sorry, i forgot.”

he didn’t buy any of it. but he didn’t stop you either.

and now it’s been two years. two whole fucking years.

katsuki hates every second of it.

he can’t sleep without thinking about what he could’ve done differently. what he should’ve said. should’ve noticed. he misses you in a way that’s physical, in a way that haunts him.

he misses your voice. your laughter. the way you used to throw your arms around him without warning. the way you’d look at him like he mattered more than anything.

you don’t do any of that anymore.

and it’s killing him.

so when he hears there’s a class reunion in some half-lit bar in osaka, he shows up early. waits. watches the door like a fucking lunatic.

and then you walk in. with izuku, of course.

you’re laughing. smiling. katsuki hasn’t seen you smile like that in two years and it splits something open inside his chest.

twenty minutes in, kirishima calls you over. katsuki hears your name and suddenly he’s sweating. your eyes meet his, and he knows that look. you’re nervous.

“hi, eiji,” you say softly. “bakugo.”

bakugo.

not katsuki. not suki. not anything that means he still matters to you.

he wants to punch a wall.

“y/n,” he says back, like it doesn’t gut him.

you talk to kirishima. a little small talk. fake smiles.

and then katsuki’s standing. grabbing your wrist.

“what the hell are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide.

he drags you outside. it’s raining. cold. your coat’s too thin. you’re shivering.

“it’s katsuki to you,” he growls. “or kats. or suki. i don’t give a fuck which nickname you use, just stop calling me bakugo like i’m a stranger.”

“this is inappropriate,” you snap, yanking your hand free. “let me go.”

he ignores you. stares at the ground like it might tell him what to say.

“what happened?” he asks. his voice is low. raw.

“what are you talking about?” you blink at him like he’s gone insane.

“don’t do that,” he snaps. “you know what i mean. you disappeared. one day you were just... gone. after fifteen years. what the fuck, y/n?”

you exhale shakily. look up at him through wet lashes.

“you know why i stopped talking to you.”

“no,” he says, voice cracking. “i don’t. tell me.”

you hesitate. because this hurts. it always hurts.

“you knew i loved you. i spent fifteen years loving you, katsuki. and it meant nothing. not once did you look at me like i meant something to you.”

he’s staring at you like you’ve punched him.

“what the hell are you talking about?” he breathes.

“you never hugged me unless i was crying. you never said you loved me back. and every time someone brought up how close we were, you called me annoying. like i was some bug you couldn’t shake.”

“i hugged you,” he insists. “i did.”

“a pat on the back isn’t a hug, katsuki.”

you’re crying now. not loud. just quiet tears running down your cheeks.

he steps forward. wraps his arms around you. tight. too tight. like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, voice shaking. “i’ll fix it. i’ll do anything. these last two years... i can’t breathe without thinking about you. i can’t sleep. i can’t do anything. i’m so fucking angry all the time because you’re not here, and it’s my fault, and i hate myself for it.”

you’re sobbing. shoulders shaking. rain soaking through your clothes.

“don’t,” you whisper. “don’t say this now. i’ve spent years making peace with the fact you didn’t love me. i’ve moved on.”

“shut up,” he says, desperate. “just shut up and listen.”

you do. because you always do when it comes to him.

“you’re everything to me,” he says, and his voice is wrecked. “you always have been. even when i was too stupid to see it. i didn’t know how to show it. i didn’t know how to say it. but i do now.”

you’re frozen. staring up at him through rain and tears and years of ache.

“i love you,” he says.

and the world stops.

the rain, the noise, the pain in your chest — it all goes still.

you stare at him like the words didn’t make sense. like your brain needs to reboot just to process them.

you step back from his arms. look him in the eye.

he’s crying too. shaking. like he’s finally broken open.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, trying to wipe your tears with his thumb. “i’m so fucking sorry. don’t cry. please.”

you smile. small. sad.

and then you kiss him.

soft. slow. like you’re afraid it’ll disappear if you’re not careful.

he doesn’t pull away. for once, he pulls you closer.

the bar door opens behind you. someone gasps. but neither of you move.

because right now, the only thing that matters is that he said it back.

and this time, he means it.

“i love you,” you whisper.

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

“i love you too, idiot.”

[skelesnakesposts]

Ok so I ended up writing 12k words, I'll put the first chapter in here and link the ao3 bellow because I'm not gonna make people read all of that.

Chapter 1:

After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rang, signalling the end of class. Lily had just survived the most boring math lesson of her life, and she was beyond relieved to be free. She packed her books as fast as she could while the teacher reminded everyone about the test on Friday.

She filed out with the rest of her classmates and made a beeline for her locker across the hall. As she was packing up to go home, Eve approached.

“Hey, Lily. I’m really sorry—I have to cancel again. My mom wants me home. Some family stuff came up.”

“Okay… Do you know when you’ll actually be able to work on the project? It’s due next week, and Ms. Maken will kill us if we don’t get it done. It’s like fifty percent of our final grade.”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m not sure when I’ll have time, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can, okay?”

“Fine. I’m going to start on my section—it’ll take a while anyway. Just send me your part whenever you get the chance. I’ll handle the formatting,” Lily said, obviously annoyed.

“Thank you so much, Lily. You’re a lifesaver,” Eve replied with forced gratitude—her tone made it obvious she wasn’t planning to contribute much.

“I’d better go. See you Monday, Eve. Hopefully, everything’s okay with your family.”

“Thanks. See you Monday.”   Eve turned and walked away.

Not long after, Lily headed home. She had a mountain of work waiting for her and couldn’t afford to waste time. Wanting to beat the early evening darkness, she decided to take a shortcut.

The alley between the vape shop and one of the dozen nearly identical phone stores shaved several minutes off her walk. It let out just a block or two from her house—close enough to feel convenient, not far enough to feel dangerous.

At least, not usually.

Halfway down the alley, she spotted a couple of shadowy figures. She paused. Should she really walk toward them?

“Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. Walking toward strangers in a sketchy alley was objectively a terrible decision.

As she got closer, the figures began arguing—loudly.

“What do you mean you lost it? You had one job!”

Lily stopped cold.   She knew that voice.   “Uncle David?”

He didn’t turn, too caught up in yelling at the stranger.

“You think I meant to? I worked my ass off to get that! You seriously think I’d just hand it over?”

Lily opened her mouth to call out again—but then she saw something that made her freeze.

Plants—real plants—were snaking up around the stranger’s neck.

She blinked.

She had to be imagining this. Where would plants even come from in the middle of a concrete alley?

Then the man collapsed.

David turned—and saw her.

His face changed instantly. Panic. Regret. Guilt.

Lily’s heart was hammering. That wasn’t just anyone. That was her uncle. And she had just watched him kill someone?

She took a step back.

“Wait! Lily, it’s not what it looks like!” David called.

“Oh really?” she snapped, eyes wide. “Because it looked like you just murdered someone.”

David raised his hands, staying where he was. “Okay, it was—kind of. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s not like they’ll believe you anyway. You’ll end up in a mental hospital, they’ll think you’re insane.”

Lily stared at him. “You’re my uncle, David. How am I supposed to process the fact that you just choked a guy with plants? What even is that?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he muttered.

“You think that makes it better?” she said, her voice high and shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to act normal after this? I could still call the police and say you strangled him with a rope or something. That’d be enough to get you arrested.”

David let out a slow, tired sigh.

“Okay, but… are you really going to do all that?”

The way he said it—so calm, so certain—made her stomach twist.   And, frustratingly, he wasn’t wrong. Her brain was still catching up.

The alley was silent now, thick with tension.

After a long pause, David spoke again.

“Look, I know this is a lot. But what you saw wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You mean the part where vines came out of nowhere and strangled a man?” she said, arms crossed. “Yeah. Not exactly the family reunion I expected.”

David nodded wearily. “Right. So, let’s start over. I’ll explain. But I have so many questions.”

“Shoot”

She narrowed her eyes. “So that thing with the vines… that was magic, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Lily exhaled, trying to centre herself. “Okay. So magic is real. Cool. Just what I needed to round out my week.”

David gave a tired smile. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“Well, I haven’t passed out yet, so that’s something.”

“Yeah that’s a good sign. You said you had a lot of questions, you may as well keep going.”

“Yeah ok. How did you even know you could do magic? And what about me? Is there a chance I could do it too?”

“There’s a test for that.”

“Seriously? It’s that simple?”

“Pretty much. All we need is a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a basic spell.”

“That’s it?”

“You sound disappointed. We’ve got better tools these days. No full ritual required.”

She rolled her eyes. “So… when and where are we doing this? Because I want to know but I need to be home before my parents start asking questions.”

“I know a guy. He’s about ten minutes from here, and the test only takes five. I can bring you in and get the test done, but if you don’t test positive you have to forget that all of this ever happened. I’ll have you home right after. Deal?”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

and here's the link for the rest if you want to read more:

Wait, are you saying that magic is real?" "Yes." "And you can test if I have magical potential?" "Yes. It's simple: a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a simple spell."

[syrecjh]

── .✦🩰˚˖✧˚Daddy Bakugo, Master of Ponytails

˚🎀༘⋆ || husband katsuki bakugo x wife reader, pure fluff

It’s a lazy Saturday morning, the kind where you’re sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee in hand, just watching your family go about their morning routine. Bakugo is grumbling around the house, doing whatever it is he does when he’s not blowing things up (figuratively, of course), but today’s different. Today, he’s got a mission.

"Daddy!" your daughter’s voice calls from the hallway, and you look up to see her standing at the door, wide-eyed and determined. "I want you to do my hair."

Bakugo freezes mid-step, and you can see the gears turning in his head. He glares at her, like the very thought of brushing hair is a battle he’s not prepared to fight. “What? Why can’t your mom do it?”

Your daughter’s eyes widen further, and she crosses her arms over her chest in that adorable way she picked up from him. “Because I want you to do it.”

Bakugo stands there for a moment, his face twisted in that classic scowl, trying to think of an excuse. But you know that look. That “I’ve been defeated by my adorable child” look.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, stomping toward the bedroom where he knows you keep all the hair ties and brushes. “I’ll do it. But this better not take forever.”

You watch as he sits down on the edge of the bed, your daughter bouncing beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. He grabs the hairbrush, eyes scanning the mess of YouTube tutorials on his phone. “Okay, let’s see how to do this,” he grumbles, face scrunching in concentration as he follows the video step by step.

You can’t help but chuckle from the couch, watching him fumble through the tutorial, muttering things like, “What kind of stupid hairstyle is this?” and “Who needs that many steps for a ponytail?”

Your daughter giggles, clearly loving every second of his frustration, but she sits still, trusting him with her hair as if he were a professional. After what seems like an eternity of him trying to follow the tutorial, he finally gives up with a deep sigh.

“There. Boom. Style explosion,” he declares proudly, pushing her hair away from her face.

You glance over and bite your lip to stop from laughing. Her hair is... well, it’s certainly unique. Three crooked ponytails stick out in every direction, each one at a different height, but the pride on Bakugo’s face says it all.

She beams up at him, and you swear you can almost see his heart melt right there. “Thank you, Daddy! I love it!”

Katsuki huffs, but there's a softness in his eyes now. “Don’t ever ask me to do your hair again. But… you look great. For real.”

Your daughter jumps up and hugs him tight, and even though he initially stiffens, he slowly wraps his arms around her. “I think they look awesome,” you say with a teasing smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, ruffling her hair in that way he does when he’s trying to hide the affection in his gruff voice. But you can see it in the way he holds her, the way his hand gently pats the top of her head. The “Master of Ponytails” has officially been defeated by the power of his little girl’s smile.

She runs off to show you her new “hairstyle,” and Bakugo sinks into the bed, letting out a loud sigh of relief.

“You know,” you say, walking over to him, “she might’ve looked better if you followed the tutorial properly.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s a slight smile tugging at his lips. “She liked it. And that’s all that matters.”

You watch him for a moment, a soft fondness filling your chest. It’s moments like these that remind you of how far he’s come from the rough-and-tumble hero. He might be gruff, he might act like he’s the last person in the world who would know how to do a ponytail, but in the end, he’s her dad. And she adores him—crooked ponytails and all.

And when he catches you watching him with that soft smile, he huffs again, but this time, it’s not out of annoyance. “Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, but the affection in his eyes says more than words ever could.

[nymphaura777]

How I shifted for the first time?!

Okay so I had to come on and talk about my shifting journey a bit because…wow.

Sooo it all started pretty simply, actually. I just stumbled upon shifting here on Tumblr (as one does) and started falling down that magical rabbit hole. I couldn’t stop reading about it...I was hooked. the idea of shifting felt so natural, so right.

And get this...I'm a history nerd (yeah, I read history before bed like it’s a bedtime story), and one night while I was studying, I ended up visualizing this super vivid scene in my mind. Like, it was so real I could feel it. I just ran with it, started affirming like crazy in my head...nothing fancy, just pure belief.

Then boom. It just clicked. something inside me was like, “yup this is real.”

Also fun fact?? My mom once casually told me about an experience that totally sounds like shifting (she just doesn’t know it’s called that). and I remember thinking...if she can do it without even trying… why can’t I? That lowkey convinced me that shifting doesn’t have to be complicated or hard. I can shift effortlessly.

And yeah, this is how I shifted. Idk about all those complicated methods...this worked for me and that’s all that mattered.

so if you're reading this, take this as your sign: you can shift too. it’s already yours.